


Same Time, Next Year

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Allusions to Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Child Abuse, Bullying, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, No Incest, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, School Shootings, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:24:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: “I’m Jaime,” he says, his eyes gleaming with laughter.There’s a wicked edge to his mirth that makes Brienne wonder if it’s her freakishness that’s the butt of his joke so she spins on her heel and stiffly marches away.After that, Jaime inexplicably keeps seeking her out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. There’s some material here that could be triggering for readers. Most notably, in chapter 5, Brienne is preyed upon by a trusted authority figure (her teacher) and suffers a brief unwanted shoulder massage before it’s interrupted. And in chapter 10, there’s a school shooting. Overall, there is a considerable amount of angst in this, but also a lot of lightness so it's not quite as grimdark as the tags would have you believe. But please, take care of yourselves and if any of the tags give you pause, just give this fic a pass.
> 
> FYI the explicit rating only applies to the content of the final chapter when Jaime and Brienne are both 18 years old.

[](https://i.imgur.com/uySsIoN.jpg)

~* Art by Ro_Nordmann *~

At age 8, Brienne moves to King’s Landing. After the death of her brother, her dad decides they need a fresh start. Brienne thinks it’s a good idea, too. 

It’ll be worth it just to get away from all the well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning pity directed at them in the wake of the tragedy. The unending condolences are suffocating. If she never has another adult pull her aside and act as if they understand her loss, it’ll be too soon. 

A change of scenery will also be a relief. A new location means that hopefully she won’t be reminded of Galladon at every turn. She won’t have to hurry past his bedroom door each morning, her eyes fixed straight ahead, trying not to think of how he’d be sleeping in at this hour, snoring away. Trying not to think of how mid-breakfast her dad would ask her to wake him because he was going to be late for the bus. 

It feels disloyal to even think it, but she’d like some distance from her ghosts, the space to feel a little less haunted.

Even now, months later, her face feels perpetually swollen, like she’s got a melon atop her shoulders, what with all the crying she’s doing each night. Her pillow does an adequate job of muffling her sobs. God knows her dad has enough to worry about without having to manage her grief as well. 

Maybe if they just pack up and go, they can just move on, pretend everything is normal and someday it will be normal for real.

*****

She didn’t fit in at her old school and she doesn’t fit in at her new one.

She’s too tall and big and ugly to be welcomed into the circle of girls and too shy and serious and awkward to be a rough-and-tumble tomboy who gets a pass to hang with the boys. 

It takes less than one hour for the kids in her year to decide that she has no redeeming qualities. That in addition to her unfortunate looks, she’s boring and uncool and that it’s best to just pretend she doesn’t exist. Which isn’t the worst outcome, Brienne knows. 

Well, every kid decides that except one: Jaime Lannister. 

Brienne sizes him up pretty quickly. It’s all there when they go around the room the first day of school and he introduces himself. She’s known the type before, of course, but never met anyone who ticks all the boxes of privilege with such rigor. 

Outgoing and athletic is usually a winning enough combination to award any kid the title of Mr. Popularity, but Jaime doesn’t stop there. He’s also quick-witted, confident, charming, and always up for a laugh. And as if all that weren’t enough, he and his twin sister are from the wealthiest family in town and they’re painfully good-looking with golden hair and bright, glittering green eyes. Which is why it’s so puzzling when he takes an interest in her.

From what Brienne can see, Jaime’s arrogant and has a sharp tongue, but he’s also self-centered and seems to not really notice anyone outside of his bubble. He plays sports during recess with his buddies and seems to be attached at the hip to his twin during class time. He doesn’t spare anyone else much attention.

Never once does she spot him singling out the plump Tarly boy or one of the other lowly outcasts. It’s not that she's foolish enough to think he’s secretly kind-hearted and that his nobility of character is why he doesn’t target the less fortunate. It’s that she suspects he simply considers them beneath his notice. 

But for some reason Jaime notices _her_. 

Granted she does stand out in a crowd, but this is more than a passing look of disbelief or revulsion. He seems almost morbidly fascinated by her. From the very first day when she pushes an older boy into the dirt at recess when he makes a younger kid named Pod cry. 

Jaime suddenly appears at her shoulder out of nowhere and laughs loudly as the bully turns bright red and curses at her. When the boy bounds to his feet and he sees that she’s a good head taller than him, he glances at Jaime as if for support. 

Brienne squares her shoulders and plants her feet, preparing for them to gang up on her. She knows that nothing fosters male solidarity quicker than banding together to teach a girl like her a lesson. But Jaime only shakes his head with a razor-sharp smirk. 

When she realizes she’s not going to be tag-teamed, she takes a menacing step toward the bully, and he finally backs down and stomps off.

“I’m Jaime,” he says, his eyes gleaming with laughter.

There’s a wicked edge to his mirth that makes Brienne wonder if it’s her freakishness that’s the butt of his joke so she spins on her heel and stiffly marches away.

After that, Jaime inexplicably keeps seeking her out. 

And what’s even stranger is that after that first encounter, he never approaches her in public. Only in private. Alone. He’ll sidle up to her in the library where she’s hidden herself away in the corner or at the end of a deserted hallway. 

If he tried to be nice, she would just assume he was pranking her, making her think they could be friends so he could laugh behind her back if she fell for it. But he’s not nice to her, he’s a jerk.

He seems to delight in teasing her. “How’s the weather up there?” he’ll ask. And when she points out that he’s almost as tall as she is, he only waves a dismissive hand in her direction and segues into calling her the Jolly Blue Giantess, Freckles, Beast. She tries to get back at him by calling him Goldilocks, but he only smiles as if she’s paid him a compliment. From that day on he takes great pleasure in raking a hand through his silky hair in her presence and winking at her knowingly. He snickers when she glowers at him. 

She would think a boy with his ego would want an audience for his taunts, a ready-made laugh track that’d validate his mockery of her. But no, he never brings his buddies to see the show. He always comes alone and sometimes it’s like he’s waiting for her to laugh along with him which is ridiculous because why would she want to laugh at herself with him? She may be a little lacking in confidence, but she has enough self-respect not to find humor in someone else pointing out all her faults.

His daily obnoxious comments are irritating to be sure, but what really drives her crazy is that she doesn’t know what he wants from her. She’s never endured such a sustained effort to pester her. She’s no stranger to bullying and cruel insults, but this doesn’t quite reach that level. His jibes are not truly hurtful or threatening, they’re irksome, but of the harmless variety she’s learning to swat away. 

It’s when she starts _expecting_ him to show up for their little (mostly one-sided) verbal sparring sessions each day that she realizes it’s a problem. Her whole world tilts on its axis the day he’s home sick and she feels a twinge of…_regret_ that he won’t be ambushing her in the library.

She’s so unsettled by her reaction that when he returns to school the next day, she hunkers down in a bathroom stall during recess and lunch. The girls’ lavatory is the one place she knows he can’t slip into undetected. She manages to avoid him successfully for three days in a row. On the fourth day, she assumes he's moved on by now and found someone else to pester. But when she sets off for home at the end of the day, she only makes it a couple blocks before his voice behind her stops her in her tracks.

“Come down with the stomach flu, did you? I can’t think of another reason why you were holed up in the bathroom all week long. Surely you’re not a _coward_ who would _hide_ from someone looking to talk with you.”

His voice is low and nasty in a way she’s never heard before. For all the harsh words that passed between them previously, it isn’t until now that she realizes he’s been holding back. When she turns to face him, there’s a smile on his face, but for once his expression is utterly devoid of humor. He’s angry and his eyes glitter with malice. He looks…mean.

She turns away again and picks up the pace, but he matches his stride to hers and his voice carries as he continues his tirade.

“So a coward it is then. I’m disappointed. I thought you at least had some fight in you. But no, you’re fleeing from me all red-faced and jittery eyes as if the hounds of hell are nipping at your heels.”

Brienne grits her teeth, but refuses to engage. If she just keeps ignoring him, he’ll tire of the game and give up his pursuit.

“You know, you never told me why you moved here. You were probably bullied at your old school,” he muses idly as if the prospect intrigues him. “They tormented you about your looks and your size. Called you names and made you cry. Maybe some of the older boys even beat you up, made you bleed, and your parents took pity on you. They wanted to give you a fresh start.”

_A fresh start._ Brienne feels like he punched her in the gut. 

Something in her posture must give her away because Jaime laughs as if he’s just scored a point. “Your mom didn’t really think it through, did she? With your height and that face, bullying just comes with the territory. I mean, I personally wouldn’t know anything about it myself, but I wouldn’t think changing towns would be much of a solution. You’ll just have to keep moving year after year, but on the upside, I bet you’ll be a seasoned world traveler in no time.”

Brienne freezes and then turns to face him again. He marches right into her personal space and looks so goddamn pleased with himself, as if he thinks he’s so clever. She wants nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Shut up, you stupid boy,” she snaps. “My mom is dead. She died when I was a toddler. My dad is the one who thought we should start over somewhere new after my brother died last year.”

To her horror, her voice sort of cracks and tears fill her eyes. Jaime looks appalled and for once he’s the one who’s speechless.

Brienne backs away from him and blindly steps off the curb into the path of an oncoming motorist. For the space of a single heartbeat, she is sure she’s about to be mowed down. 

She thinks of her father and how he’ll get the call that his last remaining child was killed because she was an idiot who didn’t look both ways before crossing the road. She feels paralyzed with shame and fear and impotent rage, but then Jaime reaches out, grabs her by the hand and _yanks_. They crash into the pavement, Jaime taking the brunt of it when his body catches her fall. 

He makes a grunt of pain and she rolls off him. Before she can mumble a thank you, he shouts, “You beast! You broke my hand!”

As it turns out, it isn’t a break, but a sprain, however you wouldn’t know that to hear Jaime tell it. He takes every opportunity from that day forward to corner her wherever she’s alone and rant that she maimed him. At least he doesn’t spread it around.

He doesn’t have to. His sister does that for him.

Cersei gives her the filthiest look imaginable in the waiting room at the hospital when Brienne tries to explain what happened. And the next day at school, the rest of her classmates take their cue from the Lannister girl and start shunning her in earnest. Brienne thought she’d been invisible before, but that’s nothing to now. Her classmates’ collective cold shoulder is almost as demoralizing as Jaime’s whimper of pain every time he moves his arm in class. She thinks he’s just hamming it up for comedic effect, but she’s not 100% sure.

Jaime wears her down by alternating between pained puppy-eyes and an accusatory glare until he sufficiently guilts her into lending him her notes from class because his dominant hand is out of commission. Or at least that’s what he claims. She can’t help but notice his handicap doesn’t stop him from managing to scrawl a message on his cast. 

Brienne blanches when she’s close enough to read the words -- ‘THE BEAST SENDS HER REGARDS’ in all caps. The penmanship is crude since Jaime had to write with his off-hand, but it’s legible enough that she feels her face flame, her stomach clench.

Jaime only laughs unapologetically at her expression and snaps his fingers impatiently so she’ll be quicker about handing over the notes she’s promised him. When Brienne asks why he can’t just read his sister’s notes, he looks at her like she’s mad. 

“If I did, I’d have to do something for her in return,” he explains slowly as if she’s dense. “And Cersei always demands a bigger favor than was owed. So why would I do that, when you’ll do it for free?”

Brienne clutches her notes to her chest. “Actually I don’t see why I should.” She’s lying of course. He saved her life…sharing her notes is the least she can do even if he is a jerk. But she doesn’t like feeling like she’s being used.

“Oh, I think you do. Even without the guilt, you’re too good of a person to not help out a cripple.”

She gapes unattractively and he laughs again. With a sigh, she hands over the notes. Jaime takes his sweet time flipping through them as if making sure she didn’t cheat him or something. When he’s satisfied that it’s all there, he swats her on the shoulder with the papers on his way out.

“Thanks, Beastie!”

*****

They don’t speak of what she confessed that fateful day Jaime pulled her out of the way of oncoming traffic until later that year on Mother’s Day.

After they’re instructed to paint a picture as a special gift for their moms, Cersei throws a tantrum in class, screaming how her mother is dead and how dare the teacher remind her so heartlessly of that.

“My father will hear of this and heads will roll!” she shouts and then bursts into tears when her friends cluster around her and turn on the teacher en masse as if she’s the villain of the piece. A couple of Cersei’s more devoted friends even tear their paintings in two and throw them into the bin in solidarity with her. That seems to perk Cersei up.

Brienne keeps painting the Sapphire Isle, taking comfort in the blue of its water. She’s never visited Tarth in person, but her father has shown her so many photographs, she feels like she's been there. She thinks her dad will like it enough to put it up on the fridge.

At lunch that day, Jaime visits her in the library and is uncharacteristically sullen. He usually only nags her for about 5 minutes before leaving to return to his buddies, but today he stays the entire half hour.

As always she covertly eats her sandwich because everyone knows you’re not supposed to bring food into the library. The librarian feels sorry for her, though, so she turns a blind eye to it, especially since she knows Brienne is vigilant about leaving no crumbs behind. 

Jaime feels no such urge to fly under the radar. He eats his apple loudly, daring anyone to call him out on it. He’d probably throw his apple core at anyone who did. After he finishes his apple and inhales his meatball sub, he doesn’t say anything at all for the longest time. Just before the bell rings, he finally mutters, “It sucks, huh?”

Brienne can only nod. From what Cersei confided loudly to her rapt audience after her meltdown, the twins lost their mother a couple years ago. Brienne imagines it would be worse if she’d been old enough to remember her mom, but even without the memory of her, holidays like this still make her ache for all she never knew.

“What happened to yours?” he asks.

“Cancer.”

“Same here,” he says with a sigh. “What about your brother?”

“Gal was swimming,” she says slowly, trying to decide which version of the story she wants to tell him. The flash of vulnerability in his expression makes the decision for her. “I usually tell people he drowned because they don’t ask as many questions when I say that, but the truth is a storm came out of nowhere and it was the lightning that took him from us.”

Jaime doesn’t ask any stupid questions, just meets her eye and says, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

That night Brienne finds herself caught in the steely grip of a familiar nightmare. She’s splashing around in the sea alongside her brother and spots her mom on the shore, but no matter how hard she swims, she can’t close the distance between them.

When storm clouds gather above, suddenly she sees that it’s not Galladon beside her anymore, but Jaime Lannister. And he's brought the shore with him.

The last thing she feels before lightning strikes is Jaime’s hand in hers pulling her up onto dry land.


	2. Chapter 2

At age 9, Brienne returns to school after a summer vacation that left her with more freckles than she knows what to do with. If she thought she was self-conscious before, it’s nothing compared to the embarrassment she feels when Jaime eyes her pasty, freckled limbs with obvious merriment. 

She can tell there are a thousand insults dancing on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t need to voice them…his golden tan seems to be mocking her well enough on its own.

Miss Walda, a kind but utterly clueless teacher, informs her students on the first day of class that she is making it her #1 priority to combat bullying and foster unity, understanding, and empathy in her classroom. It is a safe space, she insists, as everyone looks rather blankly at her.

“We will kill each other with kindness…or die trying,” she jokes, and Jaime laughs long and hard at that. Miss Walda smiles brightly at him as if they are kindred spirits.

Along with the usual ice-breakers and getting-to-know-you activities the first week of class, Miss Walda plans weekly team-building exercises.

It is basically Brienne’s worst nightmare. Public speaking is excruciating enough, but Miss Walda takes it a step further by encouraging them to share Confessions of the Heart, as she calls them. They’re instructed to sit in a circle every Friday and commune with their emotions. Sometimes they pass around a bell that is imbued with the Power of Truth, according to Miss Walda, and they take turns ringing the bell and whispering secrets to each other. 

How can her teacher not see that pressuring the more vulnerable of her students to open themselves up to the more powerful only puts them at greater risk? It just gives the bullies more ammunition to use against us, Brienne wants to shout. But she knows Miss Walda would only tut and say that Brienne has trust issues she needs to sort through.

Brienne tries to keep her confessions to a minimum, stumbling over her words, and lying, always lying, even though she usually prides herself on her honesty. Her dad always said that telling the occasional white lie wasn’t dishonorable if it was serving a higher purpose. And anyone with half a brain could guess how dangerous it’d be to say anything of consequence while the vultures are circling overhead.

Jaime always raises a brow whenever she shares a memory that’s clearly false. (Like clockwork, later in the day he’ll intercept her and make fun of what a bad liar she is and try to give her tips on how to look less shifty the next time, all to no avail.) His gaze is sympathetic, however, the time she asserts that she’s an only child and that she moved to King’s Landing the year before because of her dad’s job.

Brienne senses Jaime lies just as routinely as she does, he’s just better at it and so inventive that the other kids hang on his every word. He’s almost as riveting a storyteller as Margaery whose dazzling tales of adventure always include a good deal of embroidery. The pair of them are really quite impressive. Both talented orators with big imaginations and a flair for the dramatic. Brienne absently thinks they’d be a lock for the leads in the school play if Jaime would ever lower himself to audition for the part. 

Once a month, chairs are moved to the side of the classroom and a mat is rolled out and Brienne takes that as her cue to excuse herself to go to the restroom. Trust falls aren’t such a fun activity when you know none of the other kids are strong enough to catch you even if they wanted to, which they don’t.

*****

Brienne no longer spends her lunch period in the library because Miss Walda has a brainwave and institutes assigned seating in the cafeteria. Apparently this is the key to dismantling cliques. (She’s also a big proponent of school uniforms, but she lost that battle.)

So now outcasts are thrown together with the elite, and mysteriously this experiment doesn’t instantly usher in world peace. 

Brienne has mixed feelings about it. In spite of herself, there is something to be said for not eating lunch alone. On the other hand, she misses the quiet comfort of the library and how Jaime would stop by at some point during the half hour and talk her ear off. Now he sits at the other end of the lunch table and she pretends that it doesn’t bug her that he looks so happy chatting with his sister and friend Addam, and never even spares her a glance.

It’s alphabetical seating which is lucky for Brienne since it means her closest dining companions are Samwell, Missandei, and Margaery. Sam’s a sweet boy, nervous but kind. Missy’s serious and quiet like Brienne herself, but unlike Brienne, she has a talent for putting others at ease and making them feel understood. 

Margaery, however, intimidates Brienne at first, but over time she discovers she’s actually a decent sort. Beautiful and bubbly, Margaery has a tendency to act as if they’re long-lost friends during lunch which originally rubbed Brienne the wrong way since she doesn’t care for phonies. 

But after weeks in the girl’s presence, she comes to the conclusion that there’s no malice in Margaery’s effusiveness. It’s just the way she is. And even though they aren’t really friends, she’s never heard Margaery say a bad word about her or laugh when someone made a joke at her expense. 

Granted, it’s a low bar, but all three of her dining companions have cleared it, and Brienne finds herself grateful for their company on many a dark winter day.

It’s one such dark winter day in January when there’s a commotion at the other end of the table. Brienne looks up to see Cersei screeching and pointing at her brother. Jaime’s hands are flailing around and his face is turning blue. 

His panicked eyes meet hers for the barest moment and then Brienne is on her feet, marching unerringly to his side, pushing people out of the way, so she can grip him by the shoulders, haul him up, and slap him on the back. When that doesn’t dislodge whatever’s choking him, she slides her arms around him and starts the Heimlich maneuver. On her third upward thrust, a chicken bone is expelled.

As Jaime sags in her arms in relief and he coughs and coughs, Brienne helps lower him back into his chair. Her hand is still on his shoulder when Cersei says, “Awww, Big Brienne has such a crush on my brother, she’ll do anything to get her hands on him!”

Brienne leaps back as if she’s been scalded. Her face burns and part of her is actually _surprised_ when the crowd joins in with Cersei’s laughter. Like she was foolish enough to think they’d be impressed or at least grateful that she saved his life.

Jaime pounds his fist on the table and Cersei flinches. “Thank god she did,” he says, his voice ragged, but loud enough to carry so the entire table hears him. “If it’d been left up to the rest of you lot, I’d be a pretty corpse with a chicken bone still stuck in my throat.”

When she’s sure her knees won’t buckle, she hurries back to her seat. Jaime’s adamant words turn the tide. Margaery gushes loudly about how heroic Brienne was and several of the others join in. Missy smiles at her. Even Sam gives her the thumbs up.

Jaime stares at her with an intense unreadable expression for the remainder of the lunch period. Brienne can feel his piercing gaze even though she tries to avoid it. When she finally risks a glance his way when everybody stands to return to class, he gives her a nod. She imagines it’s his way of saying they’re even now. He saved her life, she saved his. She nods back.

After his ‘near-death’ experience, Miss Walda makes them all sit in a circle and discuss this ‘traumatic’ experience. Shockingly, a few of the kids who were nowhere near Jaime when it happened burst into tears. Brienne looks at Jaime incredulously and they both bite their lip so they don’t dissolve into laughter. 

When it’s Jaime’s turn to talk, he has a twinkle in his eye that can only mean trouble. He adopts an air of wisdom and lowers his voice meaningfully as if he alone possesses all the secrets to the universe.

He weaves an elaborate tale of the afterlife. He says he went into the light and was visited by seven faces: A bearded man holding a set of scales. A merciful woman, heavy with child. A beautiful maiden, pure as the driven snow. A wizened old lady carrying a lantern. A fierce warrior brandishing a sword. A smith with a hammer in hand. And finally, a skeleton in a cowled robe.

As he shares their words of advice for him, Brienne’s gaze sweeps the room to see that everyone is lapping it up, including Miss Walda.

“Dark shadows converged, longing to draw me under, but suddenly the warrior returned for me. She asked, ‘What do we say to death?’ And I responded: ‘Not today.’ Then whoosh, I was back inside my body again, breathing the breath of the living.”

His rousing performance earns him a spontaneous round of applause and Jaime takes a bow. Brienne rolls her eyes and even though he doesn’t look her way, she strongly suspects she’s the reason the corner of his mouth ticks upward just then. 

When he intercepts her after school, she asks if his mysterious warrior was as ugly as she was tall. 

He shakes his head. “Nah, she was tall all right, but ugly? She had hair that shone of pure sunshine and eyes that sparkled with sapphires. Besides, no one who ever saw her wielding that blade would ever think to call her ugly.”

Brienne blinks stupidly before shaking herself out of her stupor. “You should take up creative writing. You’d make a killing at it.”

Jaime studies her for a long moment then says simply, “She saved my life, that part was true enough.”

*****

The next time Brienne enters her homeroom to see the mat is down and the chairs are against the window, Jaime sidles up to her. When she raises her hand, waiting for Miss Walda to call on her so she can ask for a bathroom pass, he snatches her hand and draws it back to her side.

“Don’t go. I’m your partner.” Brienne tries to protest, but he says, “I’ll catch you. I’m strong enough.”

She looks at him appraisingly. It’s true he shot up in the last year and is currently a hair taller than her, but she’s sure that won’t last long. He’s also probably the only one in their class close to her weight. There’s a passable chance he _could_ catch her, but _would he?_

Brienne dithers just long enough that she misses her window to escape and is stuck with him for a partner.

Up until the very last moment, she’s terrified he’s playing a mean trick on her and that after everything, he’ll let her fall to the mat without even trying to catch her. She figures the best case scenario is that he isn’t messing with her and he tries to catch her, but she’s too heavy and she falls on top of him the same way she did on the street and he sprains his other hand this time. 

But no, when she falls backward, Jaime catches her easily. His arms around her are steady, secure, and he smiles smugly when she straightens and his hands fall away from her.

“Shut up,” she mutters, but both of their mouths twitch with amusement. 

He moves to stand in front of her. “Your turn. You better not drop me.”

She doesn’t.

When Miss Walda has them circle up afterward to preach about how they all must learn to let their walls down to let others in, Jaime nudges his shoulder against hers. 

Walls are no deterrent for someone like Jaime Lannister, Brienne thinks. He has a goddamn battering ram called charm that could breach a lesser person’s defenses. Failing that, he’d scale the wall or tunnel underneath because he’s tricky like that. 

That’s the only explanation for why Brienne’s walls that are so thick and so high no longer seem to be as impenetrable as they once were.


	3. Chapter 3

At age 10, Brienne is thrown a curveball. Gym is the one class where she’s usually in her element. She’s strong and athletic which means that even when the other kids hassle her during it, she doesn’t take it as personally because she knows they’re just jealous or, in the case of some of the boys, embarrassed that a girl can beat them.

But then Mr. Martell announces that they’ll be focusing on dance this week. That they’ll be learning partnered dancing, all proper-like, starting with the box step. Brienne isn’t the only one who grumbles, but she bets she’s the only one who is suddenly gripped with utter dread. 

She tries so hard to avoid any interaction that would invite this particular flavor of ridicule. Dancing with a boy is at the top of that list. 

Assigned partners would be bad enough since she’d have to deal with whichever boy was saddled with her complaining loudly about being paired up with her. But this will be infinitely worse. Just the prospect of suffering the indignity of waiting and waiting as other prettier, less freakish girls are selected before being picked last is _excruciating_.

In her escalating panic, her thoughts jump all over the place as if to distract her. What if she tramples on some poor boy’s toes and he has to be rushed to the ER? What if the boy just straight-up refuses to dance with her and decides he’d rather be sent to the principal’s office and suspended than touch her with a ten-foot pole? Isn’t it a bit sexist that the boys are the ones picking the girls and not vice versa? She’d thought better of Mr. Martell.

Not that Brienne knows who she would pick if given the choice. Maybe Sam since he’s nice and wouldn’t be a jerk about it and is used to being picked last, too. Maybe Sam will pick her when it’s his turn. Brienne shuffles behind the pack of girls, but her height makes it impossible to truly hide back there.

Jaime’s up first. His gaze darts to his twin as he opens his mouth, but then Cersei gives a subtle shake of her head and he closes it. It happens so quickly Brienne doubts anyone else noticed the exchange.

If Brienne had to guess, based on the moony looks Cersei has been shooting Rhaegar, she’d say the Targaryen boy is who she has her eye on. It’s probably for the best since they’re getting to the age now where it’d be kind of weird to choose your sister to dance with, wouldn’t it? She feels a little bad thinking it when she sees that Jaime appears almost hurt by Cersei’s rejection.

He scans the rest of the girls, most of whom are smiling hopefully at him, and when his gaze lands on Brienne, he _beams_ in a way that sets off alarm bells.

“Tarth,” he says with a shit-eating grin and everyone snickers. 

Brienne wants to sink through the floor and also deck him one. Her face burns as she moves to join him. She can’t even look at him as the rest of her classmates are paired up. She’s scared of what she might do if she did. When he tugs her over to the corner of the gym, Brienne finds her voice.

“Satisfied? Did humiliating me make you feel better?” she hisses.

“Humiliating you? I saved you. Would you have rather danced with Bolton or Greyjoy? Give me a break! You should be flattered I picked you.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so _honored_ that you made me the laughingstock today. How _charitable_ of you to make me the butt of everyone’s joke. If this is your idea of flattery, I shudder to think what you would do if you wanted to hurt me on purpose.”

Jaime has the audacity to appear genuinely puzzled by her reaction. “I meant no insult,” he insists. “Now, c’mere, Beastie.”

He pulls her closer and moves one of her hands to his shoulder, takes the other in his own, and his free hand moves to her waist. “Like this,” he says before Mr. Martell has even finished explaining the proper form.

Unsurprisingly, it turns out that the Lannister twins took special dance lessons a while back. It’s probably some rich people thing where they train their kids early so they won’t embarrass their parents at posh functions like galas or balls or whatever.

The box step is simple, and yet Brienne struggles with it, clumsy as ever. Her dad says she just hasn’t grown into her limbs yet, but he’s biased and has a stake in giving her false hope that someday the ugly duckling will magically morph into a swan.

Jaime’s naturally graceful because of course he is. He’s a swan if ever there was one. He and his sister both, who it appears got her wish, and is currently twirling in Rhaegar’s arms.

Missy and Grey sail past in perfect harmony and Brienne starts to wonder if her class is lousy with ringers.

Jaime gives her a little shake. “I’ve seen your footwork on the soccer field and it’s impressive so why should this be any different? Just follow my lead,” he says and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world to move in tandem with him. 

After a bit she’s able to stop looking at her feet and instead stares over his shoulder because meeting his eye seems like a bad idea right then for all sorts of reasons.

She has to admit it’s nice to dance with a boy who doesn’t seem to flinch away from her touch as if she has cooties or act terrified that someone might see them together and think he liked her for real or something. Jaime’s too popular and arrogant by far to think even a loser as hideous as Brienne could tank his stock.

It’s also nice to dance with a boy who’s close to her height. They continue to go back and forth as to who’s taller (she’s currently pulled back into the lead), but Brienne has a bad feeling this is a contest she’ll ultimately win, unfortunately. There will come a day where she’ll tower over even Jaime, the tallest boy in her year, and she’ll want to cry. But that day is not today so Brienne lets herself be swept along in Jaime’s wake.

Jaime chooses her as his partner every day over the rest of the week. By that Friday, Cersei actually seems a little miffed that her brother no longer even glances at her before picking Brienne which was probably the point of it to begin with. 

She notices the rest of the class isn’t laughing quite so heartily by the end of the week when Jaime chooses her. They seem more confused than anything else, like they know it’s a joke of some kind, but are no longer sure of the punchline. 

Brienne will concede that when considering the alternative, she is actually grateful to Jaime for his impulsiveness. Even if choosing Brienne as his dance partner was all just some twisted ploy to get back at his sister (Cersei was likely tortured by the thought of how her twin dancing with the ugliest, least popular girl in their year might reflect on her), Jaime treats her well and it’s been almost fun at times. It sure beats being picked last, if nothing else.

“Come on, the music’s still playing. Might I have this dance, my Beastie,” Jaime says grandly and Brienne snorts.

“You’re such a dork. I don’t know how nobody else sees it,” she says, but she accepts his hand and starts counting out the steps.

“I think it’s my dazzling good looks. My beauty blinds them to my true nature,” he retorts.

Brienne is usually really careful about keeping her lips closed on the rare occasion where she smiles, about covering her mouth on the rare occasion she laughs, all so that her horsey teeth are never on display.

But with Jaime twirling her around, his eyes sparkling with mirth, she forgets herself and opens her mouth and guffaws. Jaime looks at her like he’s never seen her before, but he doesn’t mock her, he appears almost delighted as he playfully dips her and laughs along. 

At the end of class, Jaime tugs gently on her braid before stepping away from her and Brienne finds herself almost disappointed that the week is over.

*****

On the last day of the year, the school hosts a series of silly games and contests to entertain the students. The three-legged race for those in the 4th, 5th and 6th grades is up first and Jaime tracks her down where she’s doing her level best to blend into the bleachers. He sits down beside her and starts tying a bandana around their ankles before Brienne even clocks what he’s doing. 

She tries to object, but Jaime gives the fabric a hard yank and double-knots it with finality.

“We’re the same height, we already know how to make our footwork sync up, and we’re both competitive,” he reasons with her. “Trust me, we’ll leave everyone else in our dust.”

They do. With Jaime shouting, “Inside, outside, inside, outside,” the entire time so they keep the same rhythm. Afterwards, Brienne swears she might be partially deaf on that side, thanks to his booming chant.

Jaime lifts his arms in victory as if they won a marathon when the medals are placed around their necks. And to be honest, Brienne can’t help feeling a tiny bit smug herself. 

He takes their win as a sign and drags her to the wheelbarrow race where they argue over who has to be the wheelbarrow. In the end, they flip a coin and Jaime loses so Brienne gets to be the driver. That doesn’t stop him from barking orders at her during the race and trying to mow down the competition which gets them disqualified.

Jaime sucks at the egg-and-spoon race, dropping his egg two seconds in while Brienne is steady of hand and fleet of foot and comes in 2nd behind Grey, earning herself a sash to go with her medal.

But then their fates are reversed when she faceplants two seconds into the sack race and Jaime takes a moment to laugh at her misfortune before surging ahead of the pack to win it all. He’s given a small trophy that he rubs in Brienne’s face, saying how much better it is than some stupid sash.

She privately agrees. The sash is stupid. 

At the end of the day when they part ways, Jaime looks back over his shoulder and says, “Have a good summer, Beastie!”

Brienne gives a curt nod. “You, too. Try to stay out of trouble.”

"Now where would the fun be in that?" he drawls with a smirk. "See you next year.”


	4. Chapter 4

At age 11, Brienne’s class takes a field trip to the museum in the fall. There are multiple chaperones in addition to the teacher, and yet it devolves quite rapidly into a free-for-all with kids taking off in every direction, running wild. Brienne feels for the poor members on staff at the museum. The chaos, however, provides Brienne with ample cover, giving her the chance to slip away from her classmates undetected.

She sneaks up to the third floor. The medieval weaponry exhibit is off limits, according to the letter her dad had to sign to allow her to go. It’s the school’s position that the exhibit would send the wrong message to their students, that the sight of swords and lances and crossbows would break their young, impressionable minds and set them on a path of violence. 

Brienne thinks that’s ridiculous and wonders what message they thought the mummified slave girl’s remains downstairs sent exactly, especially when the guide only spared two lines for her before moving onto the pharaoh.

She waits for someone to catch her, unchaperoned as she is, and compel her to rejoin her classmates, but her considerable height and stature work in her favor for once. She appears much older than she is if they don’t look too closely, and few people ever want to give her a closer look. 

Brienne has a blast, immersing herself in a bygone era of knighthood where lofty ideals like bravery, chivalry, and honor reigned supreme. She loses all sense of time and actually jumps at the sound of a low, mocking drawl behind her.

“Should’ve known! We’re on the buddy system, remember, Beastie? I never thought you had it in you to go rogue at the museum. What a rebel!” 

Brienne refuses to turn around. This is the first time Jaime Lannister has deigned to string together two words in her presence since the year began. Five weeks and counting.

Their weird not-quite-friendship had never made sense, but it had hung on long enough that she’d gotten used to it. So she’d been surprised…hurt, if she was honest…when they returned from summer vacation and he acted like they were strangers. He didn’t track her down in the library or even spare her a glance anymore. It was like poof, she’d become invisible to him overnight. It took a few days for it to sink in, but ultimately she got the message loud and clear.

_Oh, this is it_, she finally thought. In the early days of their acquaintance, she’d been waiting for it. He’d just been so decent there for a while she’d thought…well, she didn’t know what she’d thought anymore. But this is always how it was meant to be. 

Boys like Jaime Lannister didn’t seek out girls like Brienne Tarth. Jaimes didn’t get their feelings hurt when Briennes avoided them or save them from being run over by cars or catch them when they fell or dance with them or win a three-legged race with them and laugh like they were having a good time. All that had happened before was the fever dream of a lonely girl desperate for companionship and this, this right now was the reality of things. 

“Were you sent to track me down then?” she asks in a deliberately bored tone. She stares at the twin swords under the glass, the rubies winking at her as if they’re sharing a secret.

“Nah, I just noticed I didn’t see your dour head smacking into archways and thought if I were a humorless plank of a girl, what guilty pleasure would lure me away? Ancient pointy things were a safe bet.” He steps closer and she feels his breath on her neck as he studies the swords, too. “I can see you wearing chainmail with a sword in your hand, flying at your enemies and knocking them into the dust.”

The beginnings of a smile plays over her lips as she recalls the tale Jaime had told about the afterlife a couple years before, casting her as his warrior. But then he continues and the almost-smile slides right off her face as a stone lodges in her belly.

“It’s too bad that kind of thing is frowned upon in the modern world. Yesteryear’s valiant knight is today’s freak.”

And there it is…the insult, the kick. _Does she never learn?_ Brienne glances at her watch and realizes the lunch hour is almost upon them and her absence will be noted if she doesn’t return.

She spins on her heel and when he dogs her steps, she tersely says, “I can find my own way back, thanks.”

But he stays glued to her heels, picking up his pace when she tries to lose him.

The staircase is on the other side of the museum so she heads for the elevator. When he slips inside behind her and stands too close as the elevator doors shut, she punches the button for the lobby with more force than is necessary. Brienne’s just about to elbow him so he’ll give her some room when the entire thing lurches to a stop.

Brienne and Jaime stare at each other in shock. Elevator jams only happen in the movies, right? If she just waits another second or two, it’ll resume. But it doesn’t.

She takes a deep breath, goes to the panel, and presses the alarm button. For a moment she wonders what she should do if no one answers the intercom, but thankfully, a tinny voice responds. Brienne informs the operator what happened and he’s very calm and reassuring, promising a technician is on his way. He tells her that they should only have to wait 15 to 20 minutes or so. 

Brienne turns to share a relieved smile with Jaime, only to find that he’s gone ashen and looks unsteady on his feet. 

“Here, sit down, it’s all right. We’re gonna be out soon,” she says, guiding him down to the floor and urging him to put his head between his knees. “Breathe, you’re okay. Even if I hadn’t gotten through to the operator, which I did, this is a crowded public building in the middle of the day…Someone at the museum would notice the elevator malfunctioned and call a guy out to fix it. And it’s almost noon. Our teacher will do a roll call soon before taking everyone to lunch and she’ll realize we’re missing. So, you see, there’s nothing to worry about. No matter what happens, we’ll be out of here in the next half hour.”

None of what she says seems to get through to Jaime who’s on the verge of hyperventilating. She crouches down in front of him.

“Hey,” she says. “Look at me.”

He lifts his chin and oh, he’s angry. She can tell he’s dying to make a cruel remark about her ugly mug, but instead he focuses on her eyes.

She places her palm on his back and holds his gaze. “Jaime. Breathe with me.”

He does and slowly but surely, his breathing evens out to a more normal pattern.

“Impressive,” he finally says with a snort. “Tossing out my first name to get through to me. When you grow up you should become a hostage negotiator.”

“I would’ve called you Goldilocks, but you already looked vaguely homicidal so I decided not to press my luck.” 

“Hm, we know each other too well.” He pauses, studying her for a moment as if puzzling something out. “You know, back when I choked and everyone was running around like a headless chicken, I looked at you and your eyes were calm. And just now when the elevator stopped and I freaked out, you were the same. How do you do that? Stay so calm?” he asks quietly. And he’s serious for once.

Brienne flushes and her shoulders creep up toward her ears. She can’t meet his gaze. “I guess letting my nerves get the better of me most of the time means that I can keep it together when there’s an actual emergency.” 

Jaime flashes a toothy smile. “Ah, interesting, so you’re like a wartime hero, peacetime fuck-up.”

Brienne scowls at that, indignance drawing her shoulders back down and her chin defiantly upward, and he laughs.

“That’s better,” he says.

She realizes her hand is still on his back and feels weird about it so she awkwardly jerks her hand away and moves to sit beside him.

He turns so he’s still facing her and glances down at the front of her sweatshirt. It’s her dad’s sweatshirt from college and has the requisite suns and crescent moons stamped all over it.

“Planning to go to Evenfall for university? Your great-great-great whatever founded it, right?”

“Yeah, all the Tarths have gone there, but it’s not just because of that that I want to go there. I’d like to become a librarian and it has a good library and information studies program. And the island and campus are beautiful. What about you?”

“Casterly Rock all the way. Hear me roar!” he says, but he sounds less than enthused. “I’m a legacy, too. Gotta keep dear old Dad happy after all.”

His mouth twists as his hand drums restlessly against his knee. “Sorry I’ve been a dick to you this year. It had nothing to do with you. It was just family shit. Things have been…”

“Shit?” Brienne guesses and Jaime huffs a laugh.

“Aw, you swore for me, Beastie…I’m honored,” he says.

Then it’s like he’s trying to make up for lost time. After weeks of radio silence, Jaime lets loose, talking a mile a minute. 

“My brother…did I ever tell you I had a little brother?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, I do. His name is Tyrion and he’s a cool kid. Anyway, my asshole father sent him off to some nerdy mathlete camp on the other side of the world for the summer. He was the lucky one. At least he didn’t have to shadow Dad. I did grunt work and busted my ass at the office all summer long, and for what? So he could make it clear every fucking day what a disappointment I am to him, how sure he is I’ll never measure up?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and clenches his jaw. “And my sister blames me because Dad made me go to work with him instead of her. Like I wouldn’t have traded places with her in a heartbeat if it were up to me! But I guess it’s easier to blame me than him. It always is with her.

“And the worst part is the entire time I was sitting in meetings, watching my father throw his weight around, I kept thinking: That’s my future…_He’s_ my future. If all goes well, and I do everything right, the best I can hope for is to become him. Tywin Fucking Lannister, grade-A asshole. On days like today it makes me sick to my stomach, makes me want to fuck up so hard, he just hands the keys to Cersei or Tyrion.” 

Brienne doesn’t know what to say so she gently bumps her shoulder against his and is heartened when he nudges her in return. She marvels at how self-centered she's been that it never once occurred to her that it wasn't personal when he gave her the silent treatment. Now that she reflects on the past month, she realizes she hasn't really seen Jaime palling around with his usual crew either. She can't remember the last time she saw him so much as share a laugh with his buddies or his sister. But she was so busy feeling hurt and rejected, she didn't put it together. Apparently she kind of sucks at this whole not-quite-friendship thing, too.

“Sorry about this,” he says, making a sweeping gesture at himself and the elevator at large.

“That’s the second time you’ve apologized to me today. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Piss off. Anyone else would’ve given me crap about my panic attack. Hell, if it’d been reversed, I’d have said something shitty like, ‘So, how’s that claustrophobia working out for you, huh?’ But not you. You would never do that, not even after I iced you out the past month. So to repay my debt, I’ll dig deep and reveal the root of my phobia.” He says the last line in the hushed storyteller voice he uses with others when he wishes to deflect and entertain. But somehow she doesn't think whatever he has to say will make her laugh this time. 

“There’s no debt. You don’t have to do that,” Brienne says quickly.

“I know. You would never ask it of me which is the reason I want to do it. It’s a shame Miss Walda isn’t here. She’d lend me her bell so I could properly channel the Power of Truth.”

“Jaime…”

“Nice try, but that trick’s not going to work twice, Beastie. Besides, we need to pass the time until the tech gets here and it’s better when I’m too busy talking to panic.”

Brienne gives an understanding nod and he nods back as if sealing a pact.

“I have these dreams. Nightmares, really," he says with a slight shudder. "But they feel so lifelike, they’re almost kind of like memories. The worst of them is the one where I’m hugging someone, but it’s not bringing me comfort. I feel cold and alone even in their arms. Then the ceiling comes down on top of me and I’m trapped under an unbearable weight and there’s darkness.” 

He sounds haunted and when a chill races down her spine, Brienne has to resist the irrational urge to leap in front of him as if she could protect him from the ghosts rushing in. Which is absurd for a whole host of reasons, up to and including the reality that she's a coward who fled to King's Landing to escape her brother's ghost.

“And I know I’m dying, but I haven’t died yet. All I can do is lie there trapped and wait for death, hope for it, because that’s the only thing that will put me out of my misery.” Jaime’s eyes dart to hers and he smiles vaguely. “And voila, a phobia is born. So yep, being trapped in a small space is _literally_ my worst nightmare.”

There’s a distance in his voice as if even now he’s back under that rubble. Brienne aches to comfort him, but that’s not really her strong suit. She can perform the Heimlich maneuver, snap him out of an anxiety attack, but navigating emotions, hers or anyone else's, is a bit beyond her. Instead she decides the fair thing is to share a secret of her own. She doesn’t want him to regret telling her.

“I have nightmares, too,” she says. “Some of them are obvious. Ones about my mom, being kept away from her, unable to make contact. Some are about my brother…sometimes he drowns and sometimes he’s struck by lightning. One of the weirdest ones is where I’m in a pit facing a bear with a wooden sword and there’s a crowd watching from above, cheering for my death. I usually wake with a scream when the bear begins to maul me.”

He looks at her funny for a minute, his brow furrowing, but then he shakes his head ruefully. “I think that’s the first time our Confessions of the Heart weren’t a pack of lies. Miss Walda would be so proud.”

Fortunately, the technician arrives and the time it takes to free them gives them the chance to swear a solemn oath to steer clear of any and all elevators for the foreseeable future. They’re back with their class in time for lunch. 

Everyone is dying to know what happened so of course Jaime wastes no time in spinning a yarn about standing on Brienne’s shoulders to access the emergency exit hatch at the top of the elevator, but oh no, it was locked from the outside! So then they had to use their wits and decided to pry the elevator doors open, only to discover that, oh no, they were between floors! Which meant they had to climb up to the floor above them and it was a perilous, perilous journey! But they prevailed! 

Brienne is amused in spite of herself. This is the most animated she’s seen him since the school year began. It seems like Jaime Lannister’s finally got his mojo back.

*****

That spring they take another field trip, this time to the zoo. When their class approaches the bear enclosure, Jaime shuffles closer to her. 

She brings her hand up to her collarbone, recalling viscerally how the bear from her nightmare had raked his claws over her. 

“Don’t worry, if you fall in and the bear goes for you, I’ll jump in after you,” he whispers in her ear. “It’s my turn, after all.”

That night Brienne has the nightmare again. She usually wakes up when the bear starts to maul her, but this time the dream continues beyond that. The bear keeps coming at her and forces her bodily to the ground. She feels completely hopeless, knows she’s seconds away from a brutal death, and then she hears the sound of boots hitting the sand behind her. 

Brienne bolts upright in bed, her heart pounding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that the tag for attempted child abuse refers to what happens in this chapter. Specifically, Brienne is preyed upon by a trusted authority figure (her teacher) and suffers a brief unwanted shoulder massage before it’s interrupted.

At age 12, Brienne gets her first Cool Teacher. Mr. Trant is young, late 20s or thereabouts, attractive but not so attractive that he’s intimidating. (She’ll never admit it, but sometimes looking at Jaime is like looking at the sun. It’s a lot.) 

Mr. Trant has a friendly smile and has this way of making you feel like you’re in on a secret together. He’s the kind of teacher who if he sees you in the halls without a pass, he’ll give you a conspiratorial wink and cover for you to another teacher. 

A young, hip teacher like him usually gravitates toward the popular students, and it’s true that he gets on like a house on fire with that crowd, but he also makes a point of reaching out to the outcasts like herself, trying to make school easier for them, too.

Brienne can’t believe her luck when he takes her under his wing.

A few weeks into the year, Mr. Trant pulls her aside and tells her he’s noticed how flustered she gets when she has to speak in front of the class. He says he understands and wants her to feel comfortable in his class so he’s going to give her a waiver so in the future she can give her speech before or after school with just him. 

Brienne almost cries, she’s so grateful and relieved. Standing up in front of the whole class, having them stare at her, snicker at her, as she turns bright red and stumbles over her words is almost a fate worse than death in her opinion. He smiles so kindly when she thanks him. Later, she thinks how no adult other than her father has ever done something like that for her…noticed her discomfort and tried to make it better in a way that didn’t draw even more attention to it. 

A month later, Mr. Trant asks her to stay back a minute as everyone else heads out for lunch. He says he thought she might be interested in doing a special project for extra credit and that if she wants to hear more about it, he’ll be available to speak with her at the end of the day. Unless her father needs her home straight away after school, that is? Her words almost run together in her haste to assure him that no, she’s free and would love to stay after class.

When she exits the room, Jaime is there leaning against the wall waiting for her.

“What was that about?” he asks, tilting his head toward the room she just left. His expression is weird. He’s wearing a half-smile, but it looks frozen and his eyes are stony.

“Oh, Mr. Trant just told me about an extra credit project I could do if I wanted, that’s all.”

He falls into step with her as she starts walking. “Hm, so what’s this project about?”

“He didn’t tell me yet. He said he’d fill me in after school.”

“After school?”

She nods, confused by the way he almost growls the question.

Jaime follows her into the library and waits until she’s seated in her regular nook in the back corner. Then he puts his hands on the table and looms over her.

“We need to talk,” he says. “There’s something…_not right_ about Mr. Trant. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to spend any time alone with him.”

It's like he's speaking gibberish. “Why not? He’s great! He’s the best teacher I’ve had since I moved to King’s Landing!”

Jaime scoffs. “Open your eyes. He’s buttering you up…”

“Because no one could be nice to me unless they had some devious ulterior motive? And what would he even be buttering me up _for_? I think you’re just jealous!”

“Jealous?”

“You’re just mad that you’re not the teacher’s pet this year," she insists coolly. 

Jaime has never really excelled in his studies, but that doesn’t stop him from being favored by all and sundry. 

Unlike Brienne. She consistently gets straight A's and yet year after year her teachers struggle to even recall her name. And now, she finally has a teacher who gives a fuck about her and Jaime is trying to ruin it. How dare he.

Jaime runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated, but he adopts a more conciliatory tone. “Shit, you’re smart, okay, and you should get credit for acing everything, but don’t you think it’s…_odd_ that he’s showing you so much attention? That he asks you to stay after class? That he lets you do your presentations one-on-one so it’s just the two of you alone?”

Brienne doesn’t like what he’s insinuating. “He lets me do that because he knows I have a hard time speaking in front of everyone!”

“Yes, because he knows you’re shy and _nice_,” he spits the word as if it’s an insult. “You’re an easy mark. Wake up! He’s picking off the weakest member of the herd.”

“I’m not weak,” she says through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re not, but he thinks you’re alone. He thinks he can mess with you and you won’t say anything and nobody would believe you or care if you did try to speak up after.”

Brienne doesn’t think she’s ever hated Jaime more. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear one more word out of your mouth!”

“_Brienne. Please,_” he whispers, and that’s a low blow. Using her first name like that, pleading with her. 

“Leave. Now.”

Jaime looks like he wants to curse at her, but he turns on his heel and stalks away, knocking into a couple of the chairs on his way out.

*****

At the end of the day, Brienne expects Jaime to give her another pointed look of warning when she stays behind, but he’s one of the first out of the door and doesn’t even spare her a backward glance.

Brienne sits down across from Mr. Trant and is so intent on trying to prove Jaime wrong, she barely hears him describe the extra credit project. 

If he’s ‘not right’ as Jaime says, surely he wouldn’t sit with a desk between them. He wouldn’t act so normal and respectful. When he smiles at her, that’s just a regular old smile that Jaime gets all the time from everyone and takes for granted. It’s not…_too familiar_ or whatever. It’s not like he ever tries to touch her. 

There are no red flags. None. Whatsoever.

Which is when Mr. Trant suddenly stands and moves to her side of the desk and sort of leans against it right beside her. There’s still space between them, though, even if he is…closer.

Fuck, why did Jaime have to make Brienne all self-conscious about this? Make her doubt the one healthy, positive relationship she’s ever had with an adult outside of her family? 

_It’s fine, don’t be silly_, she chides herself. _Don’t let Jaime get in your head like this!_

Brienne tries to focus on what he’s saying about the sensory deprivation experiment she can do that would give her extra credit and suddenly when he talks of keeping her eyes closed for the entire weekend ahead, there’s something in his voice that gives her pause. She doesn’t even know what it is, exactly, but his voice goes funny and inexplicably her cheeks are on fire. She looks down, unable to hold his gaze. 

But he keeps talking in that voice, detailing all the things she should do while ‘blind’ to get the true experience. When the subject of showering comes up, Brienne clasps her hands together in her lap so hard her knuckles go white. His words trail off abruptly. 

Good. He sees she’s uncomfortable and now he’ll move back to his side of the desk and start speaking normally and this will all turn out to be just one big misunderstanding and she’ll laugh about it later and…

“Don’t look so tense,” he says and then he’s standing, but he’s moving even closer. He sweeps behind her and then his hands are on her shoulders, rubbing lightly. “Is this what you need? A massage to relax?”

Brienne imagines leaping to her feet, yelling at him, and marching to the principal’s office to report him, but instead what happens is she. just. freezes. 

She can’t believe this is happening. Why isn’t she doing something? Why can’t she move? What kind of coward is she? Chills race down her spine and she thinks she might be ill. And maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing because maybe that would make him stop.

The door bangs open just then and Mr. Trant jumps away from her. Brienne sees Jaime in the doorway, but she still can’t move. Jaime takes it all in and then strides to her side.

“Did you forget you promised to help me study for next week’s test?” he says, and he doesn’t even put any effort into the lie. It sounds like the bullshit excuse it is.

He bends down and gathers her books in her bag, swings it over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything to Mr. Trant, just stares at him hard until the teacher looks away. 

“Come on,” Jaime says and takes her hand. Just like that, she unfreezes and allows him to draw her away, pull her into the hall.

The rest of the students are gone, thankfully, so they don’t see Jaime lead her out of the school. They don’t see Jaime walk her home, holding her hand the entire way. 

She doesn’t stop shaking even when they reach her porch. She pulls her key out of her pocket, but can’t quite get her hand to stay steady enough to open the door. Jaime takes the key and does it for her.

He follows her inside and they sit on the sofa in silence. Her chin keeps quivering as she tries to fight back her tears, and Jaime pretends he doesn’t see which only makes her want to cry more.

His shoulder presses against her own and she hates how much comfort she takes from that simple touch. 

“I feel so stupid,” she finally says, and her voice is wet and thick and pathetic. 

Jaime turns to her with barely-concealed rage. “Fuck that, he’s our teacher,” he says fiercely. “You should be able to trust he’s not a creepy perv. It’s not your fault, it’s his.” 

“But you…knew. You saw what he was.” 

He shrugs angrily. “That’s just because I’ve been around a lot of assholes. I recognized the way he looked at you. Some of my dad’s business associates will fly into town for an important meeting and join us for dinner at our house after. I’ve caught a few looking at Cersei like that. I make sure she’s never alone with those creeps.”

After a long pause, Brienne says, “Thank you, Jaime.” 

He makes a garbled noise like he’s swallowing a snarl. “Don’t thank me. Not for this.” He looks away and turns on the TV and they stare sightlessly at it until her dad returns home. 

Jaime pastes on a fake smile and smoothly introduces himself and it’s embarrassing how happy and relieved her dad is to see she finally brought someone home from school. She can practically hear him thinking: _a friend, at last!_

Being unpopular and friendless is bad enough, but disappointing her dad and making him worry about her makes it infinitely worse. He wants so desperately for her to fit in. Each summer like clockwork he’ll flip through clothing catalogs that come in the mail, hoping to figure out what kids are wearing nowadays to help her blend in more. He never understands that it doesn’t matter what she wears. Fashion can only do so much to dress up big, tall, and ugly. 

Her dad’s so eager when he invites Jaime to stay for dinner that Brienne wants to curl up into a ball and die of shame. Jaime politely declines, saying he needs to get home, his father is expecting him. Which she knows is bullshit, but she thinks it’s probably for the best. It’s already going to be hard enough trying to pretend she's fine for her dad's benefit. She doesn’t have it in her to keep up the pretense that she and Jaime are something they’re not.

She walks Jaime to the door and he turns back to her before he leaves, his carefree mask slipping to reveal the same cold fury that’s churning deep in her gut. “I’ll take care of this, Brienne,” he promises lowly.

It’s only the second time he’s ever called her by her given name and this time she feels a flutter of warmth at the way her name rolls off his tongue. This is Jaime Lannister being protective. Of her, Brienne Tarth. It seems impossible, but in her heart she knows it’s true. She has ample proof of it after today. 

“Don’t worry about it, Jaime. I don’t think there’s anything to be done,” she says. “I’ll just keep my distance from now on.”

Jaime doesn’t look convinced. His expression only darkens further as he clenches his jaw before going.

*****

That night in bed she turns it over in her head. She imagines trying to report Mr. Trant’s inappropriate behavior. Imagines telling the principal or the police what he did…touching her shoulders and giving them a rub, speaking in an insinuating voice that made her shudder. Does any of that rise to the level of child abuse, she wonders? 

Even if it does, would they just think she was a liar, an attention seeker? Or maybe they’d assume she misunderstood because an ugly girl such as herself, shown so little affection in her lifetime, might just confuse basic human kindness with something sordid, mightn’t she?

She was right before…there’s nothing to be done.

Brienne tosses and turns and finally gives up sleep for a lost cause. She flips on her light and starts scribbling a list of excuses for why she can’t stay behind anymore if Mr. Trant asks, just in case.

\-- My dad's picking me up today.

\-- I’m tutoring Jaime at lunch.

\-- I have to return a book to the library.

\-- I've got a doctor’s appointment after school.

\-- I’m feeling sick, I need to go to the nurse’s office.

\-- I’ve decided giving a speech in front of everyone is character-building!

On and on, she brainstorms as many excuses for making a hasty escape as she can. They don’t have to hold up to scrutiny, just get her out the door. 

She feels sick to her stomach the next day. But she reminds herself that as long as she never lets herself be alone with him again, he can’t do anything to her. She keeps her list of ready-made excuses in her pocket so she can consult it if necessary. 

As she hovers in the hall outside his classroom, her anxiety spikes. She wonders if this is how Jaime felt in the elevator. 

A dizzying flurry of fears overwhelm her. What if she freezes like she did before? What if she can’t make her voice work? What if he just grabs her, gets her alone, forces something, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it?

Calm down, she tells herself. Maybe Jaime bursting in on them the way he did and looking at Mr. Trant with such blatant suspicion will do the job for her and he’ll just leave her alone from now on. Maybe she won’t even need her list of excuses at all.

Brienne’s usually one of the first to enter homeroom, but today she waits until the last minute so the class will fill up.

Jaime’s already seated, this time at the desk next to hers. (There’s no assigned seating, but usually he sits over by the window.) He gives her a nod then glances meaningfully to the front of the room. 

There’s a substitute teacher sitting behind the desk. Once they're all seated, she informs them that Mr. Trant is taking a leave of absence and that she’ll be their new teacher for the remainder of the year. Brienne releases a gusty sigh and sags in her chair. Her sense of relief is staggering. She turns to Jaime, and he looks darkly satisfied, his mouth a grim line.

Before Brienne gets the chance to pull Jaime aside and ask him what he did, they’re all summoned to an emergency assembly that’s basically the opposite of stranger danger. The principal invites a friend to speak and it’s pretty clear early on her ‘friend’ is a child psychologist or something in that vein. The woman talks a lot about trust and boundaries and how if an adult you know wants to share secrets with you or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, you must tell a different trusted adult about it. 

In the weeks that follow, Mr. Trant’s arrest is front page news. Hundreds of videos of child pornography are discovered at his home, including a fair few that feature him raping girls as young as 10. The investigation is ongoing, the news anchor reports.

Half their community shakes their heads and bemoans how such a monster could have hidden in plain sight. The other half claims they knew there was something off about him all along.

Jaime keeps mum about the particulars, but he says enough that she guesses she has Tywin Lannister to thank for this justice. 

Over the rest of the year Brienne has days she spaces out during class, remembering Mr. Trant’s hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ear. Her mind trips over itself thinking of how close she came to being one of those poor girls on his tapes. But then Jaime says her name softly and she turns to see him seated beside her and she times her breaths to his until the world solidifies around her once more.


	6. Chapter 6

At age 13, Brienne listens to Jaime hem and haw for so long, she finally snaps, “Spit it out!”

“I was called into the counselor’s office this morning and told I’ll be held back if I don’t pull up my grades. She said I need a tutor and I was hoping you’d do it,” he says all in a rush. He sounds uncertain, almost shy about it, which is bizarre.

Brienne blinks stupidly. “Of course, I’ll do it, but I bet your dad would get you a fancy tutor, a proper one, and they’d be loads better than me.”

“We’ve tried that before and it’s never worked out. Why don’t you come over to my house after school then? Cersei’s going to Taena’s so she won’t be there to bug us. And Tyrion will stay out of our way…”

His tone of voice still verges on wary so she makes a point of being extra emphatic when she says, “Sounds great!” She’s a bit louder than she intended and cringes inside, but Jaime doesn’t seem to notice.

He smiles absently and then takes off as if he’s worried she’ll change her mind or something.

*****

The Lannister estate is even grander than she expected. Brienne’s dad does well enough for himself and their three bedroom home is one of the nicer ones in their neighborhood, but compared to Jaime’s home, it’s basically a shack. She experiences a sharp pang of embarrassment at how shabby and cramped it probably seemed to Jaime when he came to her house that time.

Jaime leads her to a spacious room on the second floor that overlooks the garden. It appears to be a communal office type space with multiple desks, chairs, laptops, and a massive, floor-to-ceiling bookcase that runs the length of one wall. She can well imagine the three Lannister kids settling in here to do their homework each night. 

Brienne takes a seat at the window and starts unloading her bag as Jaime goes to get them drinks. (She tells him she’s fine, but he insists. It’s weird how he’s acting like he needs to play host with her.)

“Ah, Brienne Tarth, we meet at last.” 

She turns and sees who can only be Tyrion. Jaime had told her once that his brother was a little person and insinuated that that’s why his dad and sister treat him so terribly. She’d felt an instant affinity for Tyrion in that moment, but seeing him now, she thinks it might’ve been misplaced. 

Tyrion exudes confidence and charm, just like his older brother. Brienne and Tyrion may both be unconventional in their stature, but unlike her, he doesn’t strike her as the type to let his singularity stand in his way for long. 

He’s two years younger than them, but she’s never met him before because he goes to an exclusive academy for the gifted. "My little brother's a genius," Jaime had boasted to her when explaining why he didn't attend their school. Brienne can easily believe it now. Tyrion's gaze is probing, shrewd, and she fears he sees too much when he looks at her.

She gives a hesitant smile and is about to say hello when his mismatched eyes travel the length of her. His lips quirk in a way that makes her bristle.

“Jaime’s told me all about you.”

She doubts that very much. “Yes. I’m very ugly and very tall.” 

Tyrion laughs uproariously. “He never told me you were so funny, though.”

When she just continues to stare at him blankly that only sets him off again. 

By the time Jaime returns, Tyrion is wiping tears from his eyes. 

It’s obvious Jaime isn’t sure he wants to ask, but he finally says, “What’d I miss?”

Tyrion waves a hand at Brienne and shakes his head. “Tale as old as time,” he says faux-mournfully then leaves the room, chuckling to himself. 

Brienne’s hackles rise. Jaime still calls her ‘Beastie’ often enough, but nowadays she takes it more as a term of endearment than an insult. This is different. “Your brother’s kind of a jerk. Mocking me like that.”

Jaime’s lips quirk wryly, in much the same way Tyrion's had earlier. “He wasn’t mocking you, he was mocking me.”

Which makes no sense, but Jaime doesn’t elaborate. When she keeps looking at him quizzically, he just shrugs and hands her a bottled water. He takes his sweet time unloading his backpack and seems to be stalling so Brienne decides she needs to get them on task.

“Why don’t we begin with history?” she suggests. “Let me see what you’ve got so far on your essay about Aegon the Conqueror.”

Jaime winces faintly, but he brings up his google doc and hands her his laptop so she can read it. After less than a minute, Brienne glances over at Jaime disapprovingly. At least he has the decency to look vaguely shamefaced. He should be. 

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t even try! You just rambled on about his dragons and how he was a sick fuck who married his sisters. That last bit is verbatim, by the way…you actually typed ‘sick fuck who married his sisters.’ What the hell, Jaime?”

“Why are you getting so keyed up? It’s a work in progress,” he says dismissively, fiddling with the cap of his water. When she just stares at him, he leaps to his feet and starts pacing.

Brienne puts his laptop on the desk and stands, crossing her arms. “Is that what you’d call it? I’d call it a steaming pile of crap! You’re better than this!”

“I’m not!”

The force with which he says it makes Brienne rock backward on her heels.

“We both know I’m stupid. What’s the point?”

Brienne doesn’t think she’s ever been this bewildered by anything Jaime’s said, and that’s saying a lot. “What are you talking about? Did you have a stroke? Did I? Because you’re not making any sense.”

Jaime heaves an exasperated sigh as if he can't believe she's going to make him spell it out. “I know you’re a good person and you don’t like to hurt other people’s feelings, but we both know it’s true. _Everyone_ knows it’s true. I can’t go a single day without my dad or sister reminding me. You don’t need to sugarcoat the truth. With your help, I can probably bring my grades up enough to pass, but I’m not going to suddenly become a straight A student under your tutelage. You’re a band-aid not a miracle worker, Brienne.”

Brienne gets up in his face and gives him a shove. “That’s such bullshit, Jaime. You think I’m smart?”

She waits for him to answer and finally he grudgingly nods.

“Then listen to me. Whoever called you stupid is either stupid themselves or trying to fuck with you. We’ve been in the same class for years and I’ve heard you speak up during discussions and debates, and you’re fucking bright, okay. Your mind makes connections that most can’t. You’re able to think outside the box and _adapt_ when new information comes along. Do you know how rare that is?”

Jaime sways, looking gratifyingly dazed. Good.

“Even in the beginning when I hated you,” she continues, “I always thought that you were one of the smartest people in the room. I just thought you were lazy and didn’t apply yourself the way you should and that you were content to skate by. All of which I still stand by, for the record.”

“You hated me in the beginning? Seriously?”

Brienne shoves him again, but more gently this time, and they both laugh.

“I swear to god I won’t help you if you don’t promise to try. And believe me, I’ll _know_ if you’re not trying,” she insists in her most authoritative voice.

“Oh, I don't doubt it,” he drawls, and there's amusement glittering in his eyes, but also something else she can't quite identify.

Brienne extends her hand. “Promise me you’ll try.”

He tips his head back and then reaches out to shake her hand. “Deal.”

*****

His grades don’t rebound overnight, but now that he’s no longer actively sabotaging himself, it doesn’t take long for him to escape the danger zone. Jaime still has a habit of rambling in his essays and employing colorful language, of refusing to show his work when solving mathematical equations, but Brienne’s working on it. She also suggests they loop Missandei in for help with his High Valyrian language class since it’s a bit beyond her ken. 

Something shifts between them after this. He meets her eye more during class. When Stannis corrects the teacher’s grammar for the tenth time that day, Jaime catches her gaze and they both roll their eyes in concert. When Jorah stands up in the middle of a discussion and starts defending slavery, Brienne’s jaw drops in incredulity and Jaime mouths ‘what the fuck’ at her. 

The interplay is always brief, subtle, and for anyone else would only be expected. That kind of telepathic communication happens every day to every other kid, but never to her. 

The idea that there’s someone who notices her, who actually looks to her to share a laugh or commiserate is foreign to her. But not unwelcome. Each time it happens, Brienne can’t help feeling a flash of belonging. 

Public speaking continues to be the bane of her existence, however. Brienne wishes Jaime could tutor her on how to be as calm and collected as he is whenever he gives a presentation. But when she asks what his secret is, he simply shrugs and says, "I don't give a shit what those fuckers think," which is no help at all. Because Brienne, unfortunately, _does_ give a shit. 

Later that year Brienne has her usual out of body experience as she goes to stand at the front of the room when it's her turn to give her speech. Her throat is dry and her face is blotchy, but she focuses on her note cards and gives it her best shot. 

After someone snickers when she stammers, she spies Jaime methodically wadding up scraps of paper before tossing them in the waste bin at the back of the classroom. At first she’s incensed and finds his behavior disrespectful, but then he glances at her and he winks before he makes the next basket and she sees it for the distraction it is. 

With his juvenile game, he draws most of their classmates’ attention to himself while the teacher looming near the front of the room is none the wiser. When Jaime _accidentally_ nails the kid who snickered in the back of the head, Brienne bites her lip to keep from smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already finished the rest of this story, but I'm still tweaking the final chapters. They should be posted over the next week or two.


	7. Chapter 7

At age 14, Brienne has the most humiliating, cringe-worthy year of her life. 

It’s a day in mid-November when it all goes to hell. As it’s been from Kindergarten onward, Brienne still alternates between being invisible to her classmates and being the butt of their jokes. Today Cersei decides it’s going to be the latter.

Being mocked at every turn has made Brienne hyper-vigilant. Each day she goes to great lengths to keep the bullies at bay. She’s so attuned to the worst troublemakers in school that she can almost always see when a storm is brewing and take shelter. Some would call her paranoid, but they haven’t lived her life.

Understanding cause and effect allows Brienne to predict the future better than most. If you’re looking closely enough, the mere narrowing of Clegane’s eyes early in the day foretells the fistfight that will later erupt at lunch.

Just as she knows Cersei and her friends whispering to each other and glancing at her before gym class today can only mean one thing: they’re coming for her. But what else is new? She always has to be on guard where Cersei is concerned. Jaime's sister was a nasty piece of work as a child, but she’s grown increasingly vicious in her teen years. 

When they play basketball during PE, Brienne keeps her eyes peeled, waiting for the slightest sign she’s about to be ambushed, even by members of her own team. Half of her expects a basketball to be aimed at her head the second she turns away so she doesn’t let the ball out of her sight the entire game. There are no attempts made that she can see. But Cersei’s clique still possesses a conspiratorial air so she knows the danger hasn’t passed.

When Brienne returns to the locker room, sweaty and on edge from having to constantly watch her back, she sticks to her usual routine. She grabs her gym bag out of her locker and hurries to the bathroom stall near the back of the locker room so she can change her clothes in private. 

Even if she weren’t worried about being ridiculed by the other girls, she still wouldn’t feel comfortable undressing in front of other people. It’s hard enough doing it when she’s alone, to be honest.

She quickly strips off her t-shirt and shucks off her shorts, bending over to stuff them in the left side of her bag. She’s just reaching out for her clean clothes on the right when her bag is wrenched away through the narrow gap at the the bottom of the stall. 

And there it is, the trap is sprung and the malicious giggles that follow seem to echo in her ears.

A wave of vertigo makes Brienne's world spin, leaving her dizzy, disoriented. Her throat constricts and she wavers on her feet as the gravity of her situation sinks in... 

_She’s stranded in the bathroom stall wearing only her sports bra and underwear._

Some distant corner of her quaking mind commends Brienne on her foresight in buying a sports bra this year. It’s not like she needs it. She’s flat as a pancake, but a couple girls had snickered and pointed at her last year when she wore a tank top and it was obvious there was nothing beneath the flimsy cotton. She did some online shopping that night because she was too mortified to broach the subject with her dad. Thank god she did. If she hadn’t, she’d feel even more exposed right now.

She peeks over the top of her stall and sees that her worst fears have been realized. Half the girls are holding up their phones just waiting to record Brienne's mortification the moment she steps out of her stall. The thought of them snapping pictures of her in her underwear and passing them around so everyone can have a laugh at her expense makes her shudder. And this is the digital age, once something is posted online, it's forever. 

Cersei smirks at her and saunters over to the far end of the room to toss the contents of Brienne's gym bag out the window. Suddenly Brienne can't recall why she ever thought Cersei Lannister was beautiful. Suddenly that golden hair cascading artfully over one shoulder and those eyes sparkling like emeralds seem like nothing more than a flickering illusion. All Brienne can see is the malice in her heart, and it makes her recoil.

Brienne glances around desperately, hoping to see a friendly face who might lend her some clothes, but those that haven’t joined in with Cersei’s prank all studiously avoid her eye as they rush to tie their shoelaces so they can make their own escape. She doesn't know why she bothers. It's not like anything she could borrow from those teeny-tiny girls would fit on anything more substantial than her big toe. 

Brienne shakily lowers herself to the toilet and wraps her arms around her stomach. She’s trembling, cold to the touch, covered in gooseflesh, and she’s not sure how much of that is because she’s as good as naked in a drafty locker room and how much is due to shock.

Maybe she can wait Cersei out, she thinks. It’s lunch time now. If she waits a half hour, Cersei should have to leave to go to her next class and then maybe one of the kids from the gym class after theirs will come to Brienne’s rescue. If they don’t, she can just huddle in here the rest of the day. Even if Cersei circles back to the locker room after school, she has to go home at some point, right? Brienne can wait until nightfall, make her move after the janitor locks up, and drape herself in a curtain, toga-style, before sneaking home under the cover of darkness. 

But no, the truth hits her square between the eyes, scattering her ridiculous fantasies to the wind. Cersei will never allow it to come to that.

It’s not in Cersei’s nature to give up. She will take the fight to Brienne. Get her friends to stick their phones under the bottom of the stall or steal a chair from a nearby classroom so they can stand on it and get an aerial shot of her. Blood drains from her face as she’s suddenly certain that that’s the fate that awaits her. Once Cersei gets tired of waiting and accepts that Brienne isn’t going to voluntarily leave her stall, she will surround the stall and get the footage one way or another.

Dread wraps its cold fingers around her neck in a viselike grip, and all she can think is: there's no escape from this, no hope. 

If it’s going to happen no matter what she does, Brienne knows the right course of action is to go out there and take her power back instead of waiting passively for Cersei to strike. In a movie that’s what the bullied girl would do as some feminist anthem played in the background, but Brienne just can’t. _She can’t_. 

It doesn’t matter that her bra and underwear give her more coverage than the average bikini does. It doesn’t matter that she knows exactly what she looks like, that nothing they could say would be news to her. Shitty comments about her flat chest, her thick waist, her muscular arms, and treetrunk thighs won't be anything she hasn't told herself a hundred times before when standing in front of the mirror. But fuck, it will _hurt_. It already hurts so intensely, her mind goes blank with horror at the very idea of it. It's _agony_.

She wishes more than anything she could be brave, could be the kind of girl who just squares her shoulders and marches out there proudly. Who owns her body, flaws and all, and says fuck you to all the haters. But that’s not her. She feels like she’d honestly rather die than go out there right now and be filmed in her underwear. And she’s not being hyperbolic, she means it to her very core.

In this, she is a coward.

“Come out, come out, Big Brienne,” Cersei calls to her in a sing-song voice. “You mustn't keep your audience waiting...it's rude. We're all on the edge of our seats waiting with bated breath to see you in all your glory! I've already got my first poll ready to go: will your viewers be in hysterics at the sight of your bare bod or sickened with revulsion? Only time will tell. Tick tock.”

Brienne presses the heel of her palm to her mouth to muffle a sob as angry tears fill her eyes. 

Then she hears the door bang open. She experiences a flash of alarm at the prospect of more of Cersei’s crew filing in to torment her, but instead a familiar drawl makes her breath hitch with soaring hope.

“Ooh, get my best side, ladies, I beg of you. The camera loves me.” There’s the sound of footsteps as Jaime enters the locker room. “You do realize, sweet sister, that she's a minor which means if you get her on video coming out of the stall in her underwear and spread it around, that’s a felony. Why, you could share a cell with Mr. Trant. You could also kiss your dream of becoming the future CEO of Lannister Industries goodbye. Especially if dear old Dad were to see certain, shall we say _questionable_, selfies from your own private collection go viral.”

“Shame on you for ruining all my fun,” Cersei says blithely, but there’s an edge to it. “I suppose I’ll just have to be more creative in the future, dear brother. Get my timing right.”

There’s the sound of a scuffle and Brienne can’t resist peeking through the tiny gap at the edge of the stall door. It looks like Jaime has Cersei by the elbow and he’s saying something into her ear, but his voice is too low to make it out. Cersei appears murderous when he finally releases her, but with a toss of her head, she turns on her heel and leads her minions out the door. 

Brienne releases a shaky sigh and scrubs a hand over her eyes. 

“Here, get dressed,” Jaime says as a gym bag is kicked under her stall. She unzips it with trembling fingers and realizes the bag’s not hers, but his.

“Those should fit,” he continues, sounding like he’s hovering right outside the door. “They’re sweaty and gross, but who cares, we’re not sticking around.”

She pulls out the t-shirt and sweatpants he wore during PE, and briefly clasps them to her chest like a lifeline, like a shield. She could weep at the sight of them. 

She sniffles. “We’re not?”

“Fuck no. We’re skipping. We’ll track down your shit and then get the hell out of here. This day deserves to be put out of its misery.”

Brienne quickly dresses. The shirt and pants fit well enough which isn’t so surprising since she and Jaime are currently the exact same height for the first time ever. The clothes are slightly damp and musky, but his strong scent is actually comforting in its familiarity, a balm after the day she’s had. His sneakers are a bit big on her, but better that than too small.

When Brienne emerges from the bathroom, she’s sure she looks a fright. Her face blotchy, her eyes glassy, and still shaking slightly from head to toe. She avoids Jaime’s gaze as she slips past him to go to her locker. Her backpack is still there and doesn’t appear to have been rifled through, thank god. 

“How did you know?” she finally asks, for lack of anything else to say. “I mean, know what was happening, that I needed…” 

You, she doesn’t say.

“Cersei posted about it on Facebook so there’d be a crowd waiting in the hall to greet you after the _show_. Don’t worry, I chased them off. And any fuckers who were late to the party and are waiting for us outside will be dealt with at a later date.”

She remembers what Cersei said about timing. “I think you’ve got it backwards. I’m the one who will be dealt with later.”

Jaime comes closer and tugs her into a hug. Brienne freezes at first, but when his cheek presses against hers and his hand curls around the nape of her neck, she relaxes and winds her arms around his waist. 

“Cersei won’t bother you anymore,” he says softly. “I reminded her that I know where all the bodies are buried. She cares what our father thinks of her, she cares about her future, those are pretty much the only things she does care about. She won’t risk it just to be a bitch to you. It’s over, I promise.”

Brienne hopes he’s right.

Realizing that the hug has gone on too long, she pulls away, not wanting to take advantage of his kindness.

Jaime sweeps his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear she didn’t even know was there. A lump forms in her throat at the tenderness in his expression. 

She bends over and grabs her backpack along with her empty gym bag, but can’t help casting a worried glance toward the door. There’s probably a crowd of hecklers in the hall just waiting to pounce, demanding their pound of flesh after being denied the humiliating spectacle they were promised.

“Buck up, Tarth," he says. "You’ve never let them see you cry, you’re not going to start today. You’re going to stand tall and stare down every last little shit. We both are.” 

He looks at her until she nods and then he leads the way. Brienne squares her shoulders and follows.

As it turns out, there are only four burly jocks and one cheerleader waiting with nasty smirks on their faces. In the days, months, years to come, Brienne will think back on this moment with wonderment. The moment they see Jaime’s expression and _blanch_. She will never know what all was showing on his face, standing behind him as she was, but whatever it was, must have been a sight to behold. 

“There’s nothing to see here, folks. Move along, move along,” Jaime says, shouldering a couple of the guys aside to clear a path for Brienne.

They take the side door so she can retrieve her belongings that were tossed out the window. The wind helpfully strew her clothes far and wide over the parking lot. 

Jaime takes one look and says, “_Motherfucker_.” 

Brienne barks out a laugh, unable to stop herself, and it feels like catharsis. Jaime joins in and soon they are laughing so hard, they’re propped up against each other so they don’t fall down.

When their laughter finally trails off, Jaime gives her braid a gentle tug and then helps her pick up her scattered articles of clothing so they’re no longer littering the pavement. 

They stop off for fast food on the way home and Brienne inhales a double cheeseburger, a fuckton of salty fries, and a large chocolate milkshake. The food coma that ensues is satisfying. They walk to her house afterward and laze about on the couch like sloths, playing video games until her dad returns home that night. This time when her dad invites Jaime to stay for dinner, he accepts.

*****

Because the universe clearly has it out for Brienne, it’s only a couple months later that she gets her period for the first time at school. Luckily or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, Jaime is there yet again to witness her impending humiliation and intervene. 

He spots the stain on the rear of her jeans, plasters himself to her back, rips off his sweatshirt and ties it around her waist before anyone else can see. He’s so smooth about it all, so efficient, Brienne wonders if he trains for such occasions. 

He steers her toward the bathroom and then covertly enlists Margaery’s help so that she’s in possession of a pad within 5 minutes. It all happens so fast that Brienne never really has the chance to be embarrassed about it in the moment, but later, she will cringe at the memory and then while considering all the ways it could've gone even worse, cringe even harder.

Jaime never mentions what happened ever again. He doesn't allude to it even when she tries to return his sweatshirt to him freshly laundered. He does, however, refuse to accept it. He insists she keep it just as he did with the gym clothes she borrowed.

She’d think he was grossed out and that’s why he refuses to take them back, but he acts so serious both times, like this is important to him that she keeps his clothes. Like it's meaningful. He claims they look better on her, which is absurd, but he’s so adamant about it that she goes along with it. 

The t-shirt and sweatpants become her favorite jammies to wear to bed and the sweatshirt becomes her go-to choice for curling up and watching TV at night.

Brienne can't shake the feeling that in Jaime-speak keeping his clothes is akin to accepting a best friends bracelet from him. And he is...her best friend at least, even if she can't quite believe that she could truly be his in return.


	8. Chapter 8

At age 15, Brienne is roped into attending Sansa’s St Patrick’s Day bash. The Stark girl's parents are out of town so her house is empty which naturally means it’s the perfect time to throw a party. If Sansa didn’t make such a production of wanting her to come, Brienne would’ve feigned illness to get out of it. 

She and Sansa have very little in common, but they’re on the basketball team together and her mom, Catelyn, is their coach. That alone wouldn’t have been enough to bond them, but then Sansa is attacked under the bleachers after practice by a psycho named Ramsey. Brienne hears her screams and comes running, knocking him out cold with one blow. 

After that, Sansa always saves a spot for her at her lunch table and invites her out to see movies, go shopping, get their nails done, and other normal activities that girls do with their friends. Girls that aren’t Brienne Tarth, that is. 

Brienne sometimes takes her up on her lunch invite, but politely refuses the rest. She's aware it’s mostly a combination of gratitude and pity that’s driving Sansa’s sudden friendliness toward her and she doesn’t expect it to last. She’d rather not get too attached before Sansa inevitably drops her as a friend.

This time, however, when she says she won't be able to attend her party, Sansa sics Margaery on her.

Brienne comes away from the encounter in a daze. She remembers the curve of Margaery's smile and the persuasive timbre of her voice. But it's all kind of a blur beyond that. Is she a hypnotist? That's the only logical explanation for why Brienne is there knocking on Sansa's door that Friday night, against her better judgment.

Sansa gives her a big smile and pulls her into a hug before ushering her inside. Nobody can fault Sansa for her party-planning prowess. The Stark house is awash in festivity. There are green balloons, green streamers, leprechaun cardboard-cutouts, rainbow-colored ribbons leading to pots of chocolate gold coins. There’s a spread of green-tinted snacks. And green beer to wash it all down.

Brienne grabs a cupcake with little shamrock sprinkles on top and then parks herself behind a huge potted plant in the living room. She intends to hunker down there until such a time comes that she can politely bow out.

She spots Jaime sitting on the couch with Grey and Addam, pounding back green jello shots like they’re going out of style. The furrow of his brow and the grim slant of his mouth concern Brienne. He’s been moody lately. She suspects it’s the usual Lannister family drama doing a number on his head. Both his father and his sister have an uncanny knack for pressing his buttons until he self-destructs.

Jaime hasn’t noticed her yet and she doesn’t intend him to. If he sees her, he’ll probably try to get her drunk (he’s confessed on more than one occasion that he thinks Drunk Brienne will be a blast and he can’t wait to meet her) and he definitely wouldn’t let her duck out early. Besides, he's hanging with his buddies and doesn't need her intruding. So instead she just hides behind a plant and watches him like a creeper.

He’s wearing green, duh, but no one else wears the color quite like him. Even from across the room, his eyes pop. 

“He’s looking good tonight, isn’t he? But then he always looks good,” Margaery purrs appreciatively, leaning into Brienne’s side and following her line of sight.

“What? I’m not…It’s not…I wasn’t looking at him! I was looking at the decorations,” she stammers, her face ablaze.

“Mm-hmm,” Margaery says playfully, but after watching Jaime for another minute, her expression turns serious. “I’m worried about him.”

Brienne always forgets that there’s history between the Tyrells and the Lannisters. That they go way back. 

“I think he’s having a really crap year and doing shit that isn’t good for him," Margaery says. "Take tonight: he’s never been much of a party animal, but he’s throwing them back with true dedication. He seems…lost. Like he’s waiting for something…”

“Maybe you should go over and cheer him up then,” Brienne suggests even if something deep inside her rebels at the thought.

It’s not the first time she’s considered how compatible Jaime and Margaery are. They’re both beautiful and stylish, clever and charismatic, but more importantly, big-hearted and fiercely loyal to those they love. They’re more of a matched set than Jaime and his twin ever were.

Margaery laughs softly, a gentle melodious sound. “Oh, don’t be silly, Brienne, I wasn’t implying he was waiting for _me_. Jaime and I would never work. Right now I just want a bit of fun, nothing serious, and I don’t think that would suit him at all. He seems to be the more devoted type. Besides, he’s far too guarded. I’ve known him all my life and know next to nothing about him. I fear the poor dear has problems expressing himself.”

Brienne flashes on what a motormouth Jaime is and can’t contain her snort. “Are we talking about the same Jaime? Is this a case of mistaken identity?”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Margaery says brightly. “I have a feeling the Jaime you know is someone I’ve never met. He never let me. Or anyone else, as far as I can see.”

Brienne sputters, trying to find her words, but Margaery only touches her arm and sweeps away to go mingle.

Margaery is wrong. Jaime trusts Brienne and has shown her sides of himself that few others know, but it’s not like Margaery is insinuating.

In fact, Jaime being such an open book with Brienne proves just the opposite. He feels comfortable confiding in her because he's not trying to impress her or get into her pants or whatever. Whereas with a girl he wanted to date, he'd be on his best behavior, weighing his every word to try to make a good impression.

Brienne’s seen enough romcoms where the dashing hero confides in his average-looking female friend who’s ‘like a sister to him,’ but struggles with opening up to his gorgeous love interest. (And that's a generous comparison if ever there was one since Brienne isn't 'average-looking' even on her best day.) 

She fleetingly wonders if Jaime thinks of her like a sister. She’s certainly nothing like his actual sister. She and Cersei couldn’t be more polar opposites if they tried. 

The thought of someone seeing she and Jaime together and then mocking him afterward about it, implying he’s romancing the beast, and Jaime dismissively responding ‘don’t be ridiculous, Brienne’s like a sister to me’ makes her stomach hurt. It sounds all too plausible.

Brienne glances over and sees that Jaime has vanished. Which is a good thing. Now she won't feel so stalkerish as she lurks in the shadows. With her back against the wall she slides down so she's seated on the floor to settle in for the long haul.

Time slips away from her as she watches the flurry of activity whirling around her with detached melancholy. She never feels more alone than when surrounded by a sea of happy people. She knows she could join in, but well, maybe Jaime isn't the only one suffering from a bout of moodiness this year.

There's currently a game in progress where different teams are searching for 'gold'...chocolate gold coins, in this instance. Armed with a trusty pail, the party guests hunt for the gold Sansa hid on the first floor. They have ten minutes to collect as much gold as possible, and then the team with the most coins wins.

Sam and Gilly eagerly rush by, hand in hand. When they bend down to search inside the potted plant and discover Brienne behind it, she gives a feeble wave and they smile at her before continuing on their quest. Grey and Missy split up to cover more ground, and the strategy seems to be working for them because their pail fills up fast. 

Brienne narrows her eyes when Yara and Theon filch gold from the pots in the entryway that Sansa specifically warned them was strictly off-limits since they were meant to be decorations, not part of the hunt. She isn't surprised when the Greyjoy raiders are declared victors in the end.

The Gold Coin Toss is next. Then the Rainbow Relay. Followed by the Shamrock Hopscotch.

By this point, the music has been turned up and her head is starting to pound in rhythm to the beat. Brienne checks her watch and decides she’ll visit the bathroom and then try to slip out without Sansa noticing.

She promised her dad she’d be home by 11:00 pm and it’s not even 10 yet, but she’s hit her limit.

She has to maneuver around two amorous couples on the staircase, but finally she makes it to the landing. The door to the guest bathroom is ajar and the interior dark, so Brienne swings it open and flips the light switch on only to catch Jaime with Pia's tongue down his throat and her hand on his ass.

Brienne gasps and her face burns like it’s on fire. They spring apart and look at her, both of them out of breath and disheveled. 

And it’s like her brain just short-circuits at the sight of Jaime with his rumpled clothes and flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Brienne’s mouth works, but no sound comes out.

Jaime’s eyes almost darken as he meets Brienne’s gaze, but when she regains her composure enough to start mumbling apologies and backing away, he says, “Wait, Brienne, wait.”

The last thing she sees before she turns away and books it down the stairs is Pia drawing him back in and Jaime trying to disentangle from her. 

Brienne almost makes it to the front door when Sansa waylays her and physically drags her over to the couch. "It’s too early to leave, just stay a little longer," Sansa begs, which is how Brienne winds up a disgruntled hostage as a rousing game of Truth or Dare gets underway. 

Jaime turns up shortly after her, but thankfully, the crowd provides a good buffer between them. Pia is nowhere to be seen which means she’s probably off sulking somewhere or found a replacement hook-up. For her part, Brienne stuffs her face with cupcakes and studiously avoids Jaime’s piercing gaze.

Her drunken classmates are not half as humorous as they think, but their wacky hijinks are coming along nicely. Any moment now it'll escalate and something outrageous will happen, thereby providing Brienne enough cover to make her escape while Sansa is otherwise preoccupied.

As if Brienne wished such a diversion into being, Margaery dares her brother to give Sansa a lapdance. She waits until the hooting and hollering commences, and as soon as Sansa giggles at Loras' first showy swivel of his hips, Brienne bolts for the door. 

She hasn’t even made it off the front porch when Jaime dashes out behind her.

“Brienne, wait. Pia ambushed me. I was minding my own business and needed to piss and when I went to leave the bathroom, suddenly there she was in the doorway and she turned off the lights and basically threw herself at me.”

“Yes, I saw how hard you were trying to fight her off,” she says blandly then flushes when her mind catches up with her phrasing. 

Jaime smirks at her unintended double entendre. “Glad you noticed how _hard_ it was. Was I trying to _get lucky_, do you think? Lucky…get it? Because it’s St Patrick’s Day!”

“I got it.” Brienne rolls her eyes. “Look, you don’t have to explain it to me, Jaime. It’s none of my business.”

“Right.” He gives a wry shake of his head. “Just as you don’t have to explain your indecent little display of self-indulgence to me.” 

_Indecent_. She rocks back on her heels. “_My_ display?”

“I saw you with those cupcakes, Brienne. It was positively sinful what you were doing to them.”

Brienne’s jaw drops and Jaime suddenly leans in to swipe a finger over her bottom lip. 

“Frosting,” he says, showing her the buttercream on the tip of his finger before sucking it into his mouth.

Brienne blushes bright scarlet. She doesn’t even know what to do with that. She turns away. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“You forget, I am a gentleman. I could never let a lady walk home unattended.”

“Since when?” Brienne says with a snort. “Besides, you’re a drunk gentleman who should go back inside and sleep it off.”

“I take umbrage at that, Beastie. Did I not just use the word ‘umbrage?’ And ‘unattended’ before that? Do I sound like I’m slurring my words? Watch this,” he says then makes a show of touching his index fingers to his nose. “Do you want me to recite the alphabet backward?”

Brienne looks at him more closely. It’s true his mental faculties seem to be intact, but his eyes are glazed, he’s talking more loudly than usual, and he’s using more expansive gestures that keep tipping him off balance slightly. With how much alcohol he put away, Brienne is surprised he isn’t more affected than he is.

“If I’m so wasted,” Jaime says, “then how about _you_ walk _me_ home? We take turns with that kind of thing, don’t we? I’ve lost count of whose turn it is…”

Liar. They both know damn well it’s her turn to save him. She sincerely doubts there’s anything she can do that would repay the debt incurred when he saved her from abject humiliation _twice_ the year before. But seeing him home safely and ensuring he doesn’t stagger into a ditch might be a good start. 

Brienne sighs. “Fine. Let’s go.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, but cocks his elbow out meaningfully. She doesn’t know what he’s getting at so she just stares at him until finally he snaps, “For fuck’s sake, Beastie, take my goddamn arm. You’ll help me keep my balance.”

She finally tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and they set off. 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret…I am drunk,” he confides in a hushed whisper. “It’s just that alcohol doesn’t affect Lannisters the way it does mere mortals. We’re on a delayed reaction. We can drink like a fish and yet continue to dazzle everyone with our sparkling conversation until all of a sudden it catches up with us all at once and boom, we’re done for. If you ever saw my brother three sheets to the wind, you’d understand. He’ll be reciting Shakespeare and waltzing across the dancefloor so gracefully until suddenly he just drops. And the next day he won’t remember a single thing that happened after he took his first sip.”

Brienne does a double-take at that. “So what you’re saying is you might collapse at any second?”

Jaime gives a noncommittal hum. “I won’t lie, there’s a 50-50 chance you might have to carry me home.”

Brienne harrumphs, but tightens her grip on him just in case.

“Well, until I keel over, how shall we pass the time?” he asks silkily as if he's just full of ideas.

“By putting one foot in front of the other,” she replies tersely.

“I have a better plan. Truth or Dare. C’mon, Tarth, I’m so drunk I won’t even remember any of this tomorrow so your secrets are safe with me.”

Brienne knows they’d be safe with Jaime, no matter what. He’s already in possession of quite a few of them, but it still seems like courting disaster. Sober Jaime is a shameless flirt, but Drunk Jaime dials it to an eleven. He’s too charming by far on a regular day, but right now, he’s dangerous. The way he’s looking at her is…too much. If he asks her something personal in that teasing drawl of his, she'll likely betray herself, and then he'll _know_.

Jaime doesn’t wait for her to agree, though, just dives right in. “I choose truth. Do your worst!”

“Um, what’s your favorite color?” It seems like an innocuous enough question to kick things off.

“Blue, of course,” he says and then laughs. “You really don’t know how to play this game, do you? You’re supposed to ask a question that will make me reveal something embarrassing. I’m giving you a pass this one time, but get with the program.”

“Why would I want to play then? Embarrassing you or myself doesn’t sound like fun to me,” she points out mulishly.

“Fine, how about we have a new rule? Any question we ask, we both have to answer, and same goes for dares. That way we can’t ask anything of the other we’re not willing to say or do ourselves. Happy?”

She’s still uncertain. There’s a wide gulf between what Jaime’s comfortable divulging and willing to do without shame and what she herself would find tolerable.

“Don’t think so hard. It’s supposed to be fun, Beastie.”

When she remains undecided, he gives her his best puppy eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

Jesus, he can be such a manipulative bastard. But then again, it's very effective. She nods grudgingly.

He claps his hands together. “Okay, you asked me what my favorite color was and I told you. So abiding by the new rule, now you have to tell me what yours is.”

“Green,” she says.

“Interesting. You should look a little less glum then, considering it’s March 17th, the day of your people. My turn. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” She knows him far too well to ever even entertain the notion of choosing dare.

“Hmmm, what’s your happiest memory?”

The memory instantly springs to mind, fully-formed. But she wracks her brain for an alternative memory, one that doesn’t include him. Because it’ll reveal too much. And what if he doesn’t even remember the day in question? Or what if he just looks at her like, _really, that day?_ He’s probably had dozens of days just like it, but with better company.

“Fuck, I thought that was a softball question, Brienne. It wasn’t meant to be a head-scratcher.”

Brienne hates lying, especially to Jaime. She reminds herself that he’s drunk and most likely won’t remember this tomorrow anyway so she abides by the rules of the game and tells the truth. “When it snowed a couple years back,” she says slowly, avoiding his gaze. “I’d never seen snow before and it was so beautiful and we…we…” 

“Had a snowball fight and drank hot cocoa afterward with marshmallows on top. I remember. It was a good day,” he says and she takes heart in his wistful tone of voice because it means he looks back on it fondly, too.

She finally glances at him and lifts a brow, waiting for him to reciprocate and share his happiest memory with her.

Now Jaime's the one avoiding her eye. “When you lit into me about my crappy paper on Aegon the Conqueror, I guess.”

“What? How is that happy in any way?”

“You said stuff. Stuff I think back on when I want to feel less like shit so.”

Brienne remembers their conversation that day vividly. It still chills her to the bone that Jaime had been made to swallow such cruel lies about himself. And by his family, no less. She’s just glad he listened when she told him the truth and that he believed her. 

Knowing better than to linger, Brienne brusquely moves on. “Truth or dare?” 

“Let’s shake things up. Dare,” he says, a wicked light in his eye.

This is tricky. With the new rule in place she needs to come up with something she wouldn’t mind doing herself.

“Sing The Rains of Castamere while skipping down the sidewalk.” She’s tempted to dare him to hop on one foot backwards while singing, but drunk as he is, he’s liable to fall over and crack his head open if he tried.

Jaime nods. “Together?”

“Together.”

They skip in rhythm, arms still linked, as they sing the strains of the song. When they reach, ‘in coat of gold or coat of red,’ Jaime starts rapping the lyrics and Brienne laughs so hard she’s the one in danger of falling over.

After Brienne chooses truth yet again, Jaime slants a sly glance her way.

“Kissed anyone yet?”

Brienne bristles at that. His question utterly blindsides her since he hasn't been cruel to her in ages and it stings twice as much for that fact. 

“Oh yes,” she says flatly, “they’re lined up around the block just waiting to lay one on me. What do you think?”

“That’s not an answer. How about I rephrase it. If you could kiss anyone, anyone at all, who would it be?” he asks intently. 

Brienne drops his arm and takes a step back. “Stop it, Jaime. I thought this was all in good fun, not you being a dick.” 

“Am I being a dick to you? I was genuinely curious to know who the lucky guy would be, but fine, let’s move on.” As they pass the beach, Jaime’s eyes light up. “I dare you to go for a swim. I could croon _Nightswimming_ to you while you splash around in the moonlight.”

“I didn’t choose dare, remember?” she says in a clipped tone. Fuck him for bringing up the moonlight because now all she can notice is how the silvery light is caressing Jaime’s features so lovingly.

He runs his hand through his hair and flashes a rakish smile at her and she feels her heart race. This is one of the disconcerting things that changed in the last year. Now when he looks at her a certain way, her stomach does this swooping motion and instead of her face going pink with mere embarrassment, it blushes with heat, with shy shivery delight. It’s inconvenient, is what it is.

When Jaime inexplicably tugs off his sweater, Brienne can only gape.

“Uh-oh, would you look at that? I’m not wearing green anymore. That’s against the rules on St Paddy’s Day! You’re well within your rights now to give me a pinch, Beastie.”

“Your…your eyes,” she stutters, knowing she should look away, but unable to. She can’t believe he’s standing bare-chested in front of her. Did she hit her head at the party? Is she hallucinating?

“Yes, my eyes are very lovely. What about them?”

“They’re green,” she explains. And she doesn't recognize her own voice...all low and breathless like that. 

“Ah, so I’m in no danger of being pinched. What a shame.” His hands go to the waistband of his jeans and Brienne finally manages to turn away.

_What is he doing?_

It turns out he’s stripping down to his boxer briefs so he can run into the waves with a whoop.

Brienne stands frozen on the sand, embarrassed and worried in equal measure. 

Jaime calls out to her, urging her to join him, but she crosses her arms over her chest and tries to radiate stern disapproval. When his head goes under and doesn’t come back up, she curses and races in after him to pull him to safety. Jaime kneels in the sand, coughing up the ocean he swallowed, as Brienne rubs his back. Once he finally catches his breath, his gaze latches onto hers and Brienne sees red.

“What were you thinking? You could’ve died! You absolute moron!” she yells, shaking him by the shoulders. 

There’s a goddamn twinkle in his eye as he smirks at her as if this is all some great joke. “I didn’t know you cared.”

She shoves him hard onto his ass. 

“_How could you?_” she screams and her voice is shredded with emotion. 

He blinks and then his face screws up. “Shit, your brother, I didn’t think…Brienne, Brienne, I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry,” he says, staggering to his feet so he can take her face in his hands, his eyes pleading with her for forgiveness.

When she softens a bit at his obvious remorse, Jaime tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and his gaze flickers to her mouth and just when she’s wondering if he’s actually going to…he turns his head and vomits before collapsing weakly in the sand. 

And just like that, the Lannisters' famed delayed reaction kicks in and boom, he's done for.

Brienne thinks it would serve him right to ditch him beside his pool of vomit, but instead she helps him dress, trying to be as impersonal and matter-of-fact about it as possible. At least he's still semi-conscious so he can cooperate a little. And at least he gets to wear a dry set of clothes. Brienne isn't so lucky. Her cardigan and jeans are soaked through from wading into the ocean to save his bony backside. Her teeth chatter and she can't stop shivering.

She pulls Jaime to his feet, guides one of his arms over her shoulders and half-walks, half-drags him home. She uses his phone to text Tyrion so he’s ready to take his brother off her hands. Before she leaves, Tyrion promises to bang on some pots in the morning to make his hangover appropriately punishing.

There aren't enough pots in the world, she muses darkly, as she peels off her sodden clothing before going to bed that night.

The next morning Jaime texts her to ask if she's up and when she responds in the affirmative, he calls her.

“I’ve got a bitch of a hangover,” he groans when she answers. He sounds like hell. Good.

“I can imagine,” she says wryly.

“So uh, Tyrion said I need to apologize to you and thank you for hauling my drunk ass home last night…”

She knows she should be relieved that the events of the last night were wiped clean from his memory, but somehow she experiences a pang of disappointment instead.

“Well, let’s just say, in the whole taking turns saving each other’s bacon stakes, it’s all tied up again, and leave it at that.”

“Ugh, don’t say bacon.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give a heads-up that for plot-related reasons I made Aerys and Rhaegar brothers in this instead of father and son.

At age 16, it is Brienne’s turn to get unadvisedly drunk at a party. 

It’s a crap week. She finds out the boy she’s been crushing on is gay, bombs her calculus test, and gets into a fight with her dad about failing said exam.

It’s not like she ever honestly thought Renly Baratheon would reciprocate her feelings in a million years, but the fact that she can’t even fantasize about the possibility anymore is demoralizing. 

Her whirlwind crush only lasts five weeks all told before reality slaps her across the face. She wishes now that Renly was never placed in her shop class after the holiday break. She didn’t even know his name at the beginning of the school year. Stannis is the Baratheon in her grade, the one she’s unfortunately shared classes with over the years, whereas Renly’s in the grade below them. If Renly hadn’t been so adorably confused that first day as he asked for Brienne’s help, she’d have been spared a lot of heartache. 

After Renly and Loras go public in time for Valentine’s Day, Brienne is in such a funk that she doesn't study for her math test as she ought. Not that she can tell her dad that when he asks why she flunked.

Margaery decides to throw a _fabulous_ coming out party for her beloved brother. It’ll be delightfully flamboyant, yet tasteful at the same time, she promises. Everyone is invited, and since this is the Tyrells, Brienne doubts anyone will sit it out, not even the homophobes. It’s bound to be the party of the year. 

Brienne wants to decline, but Renly himself personally delivers her invitation and smiles so kindly that she worries if she says no, she’ll hurt his feelings. What he needs now is support and understanding. For her to be a friend to him the way he has been to her this year. So she musters up a smile and says she wouldn’t miss it.

In addition to everything else, there’s been something weird going on all month with the boys’ basketball team. Several of the players have taken a sudden, unnerving interest in her. It doesn't take a genius to recognize they're setting her up for a prank of some kind. The malicious intent in their predatory gazes sets her teeth on edge.

For now, she just tries her best to ignore their overtures. Her suspicions are only stoked when she spots Jaime intercept Red Connington in the hall when he saunters in the direction of her locker. She pauses for a moment and sees the vicious smirk on Jaime's face, the danger in his eyes as he clamps a hand on Red’s shoulder, and knows that he’s on the warpath yet again, trying to protect her from the big bad world. 

Jaime is clearly aware of what’s going on, she could just ask him what’s up, but she finds she doesn’t really want to know the particulars. She wonders if Jaime’s as tired of it all as she is. It’s just so exhausting being constantly on guard and the onslaught is seemingly never-ending. Every time she turns around, there's some new scheme being hatched by nasty little shits to make life harder for her. So Brienne spins on her heel and heads in the opposite direction.

*****

Jaime’s so proud of his brand new cherry Porsche his dad bought him for his 16th birthday that he seizes every opportunity to get behind the wheel. That’s the only reason that Brienne lets him pick her up and drive her to the party, even though the Tyrell’s residence is not far from her home. 

On the invite, guests are encouraged to wear a color from the rainbow. Jaime insists repeatedly that blue suits her best and she should go with that, so she throws on a blue cardigan over a pressed pair of khakis. She quickly braids her hair and even deigns to apply some powder and a little lip gloss Sansa bought for her. She wants to look presentable tonight out of respect for the occasion, if nothing else.

Brienne isn’t surprised when Jaime shows up at her door in green. He’s wearing what appears to be the same sweater he wore to Sansa’s bash last year, but he’s upgraded his jeans to a nicer set of slacks and his sneakers to dress shoes.

Jaime gives a low whistle. “Would you look at that? I was right. Blue is a good color on you.” He waits and then gestures pointedly at himself. “Now it’s your turn to say something nice about me. How do I look?”

Damn him. He knows exactly how he looks. She can't help idly appreciating the snugger fit of the sweater, the way it clings to his shoulders since he's filled out a bit in the past year. And the cashmere is so soft and inviting, tempting Brienne to reach out and touch it, touch him.“Green becomes you,” she finally mutters.

“It does, doesn’t it? Just as blue becomes you. We know how to play to our strengths, don’t we?"

She knocks into his shoulder on the way out the door. “Yes, we’re both quite vain about our eyes.”

Jaime laughs and then hurries past her so he can open the passenger door for her.

Margaery is true to her word. The party aesthetic is indeed flamboyant yet tasteful. Her guests enter under a massive rainbow arch that, due to the muted color palette, manages to avoid being garish. 

Margaery is a vision in pink, wearing a gauzy gown that gathers under her bust and gracefully falls to the floor. She looks positively ethereal.

Both men of the hour cut a fine figure in their perfectly-tailored suits. Renly's tie is gold, Loras' is silver, and each wears a matching crown of winter roses on their head. The wreaths are so over the top, they should look ridiculous, but somehow they carry it off. Beautifully regal, they resemble nothing more than majestic princes from some fantastical legend. All they're missing are sumptuous fur capes to complete the look.

Everyone else at the party is wildly underdressed in comparison to the trio, but she suspects that was by design. Brienne’s just relieved that her outfit is in keeping with what most of the other guests chose to wear. Most of her classmates dressed up a bit, but not like they were going to prom or something. Or to a society gala, like the Tyrell siblings and Renly.

Cersei is the last to arrive. Unlike the rest of them, she clearly got the memo about the dress code, or telepathically intuited it. She's in a stunning gown of crimson silk that's slit up to the thigh and features a dangerously plunging neckline. She glides in on her boyfriend Robert’s arm. He’s the oldest Baratheon brother, the one Brienne’s never met before. However, Jaime’s told her enough about the obnoxious blowhard who’s been dating his sister all year that she’s glad to keep her distance. 

“Fashionably late as always,” Jaime scoffs to Brienne, and they exchange rueful glances. Cersei's grand entrance and haute couture couldn't be a more transparent bid to outshine the hostess.

Margaery smiles graciously at the couple and leans in to kiss the air over Cersei’s cheeks.

Brienne can see the way the two girls size each other up. It’s like two sharks circling as the compliments flow. Margaery doesn’t often show her teeth, but Brienne knows they’re there. Cersei taps her tennis bracelet with one long perfectly manicured finger and Margaery tucks a luscious lock of her brown curls behind her ear to reveal priceless diamond studs.

They're both so glamorous they could be mistaken for models on a runway or beguiling ingénues walking the red carpet. But whatever else they are, they look like rivals.

Niceties out of the way, the arch of Cersei’s brow as she sweeps past Margaery seems to suggest she believes she’s won their little contest.

Not to be outdone, Margaery excuses herself for a moment and returns wearing an exquisite jewel around her neck. Later she’ll tell Brienne it’s her grandmother’s, a canary diamond that resembles a delicate rose and is worth a small fortune. Cersei’s eyes narrow when she sees it and she purses her lips before flouncing off.

Jaime slings his arm around Brienne’s hip and reels her in to chuckle into her ear. “Game, set, and match to Margaery.”

To start things off with a bang, everyone assembles on the sprawling property behind the house and watches the fireworks go off over the lake. Jaime stands close enough that his shoulder is pressed against hers as a riot of glittering color sparks overhead like shooting stars. The Tyrells obviously spared no expense as the show is nothing short of spectacular.

Brienne glances briefly at the happy couple who are huddled together with their arms around each other. And they do…look happy. 

“You don’t think Loras is good enough for Renly,” Jaime drawls, and his tone is mocking. He’s made no secret of the fact that he thinks Renly is a well-dressed phony, and that that makes him a perfect match for Loras.

“We’ve both known Loras for years and he’s just…a snob and a half. I don’t get what Renly sees in him.”

“We don’t get to choose who we love,” Jaime says in a strange voice that makes Brienne look at him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the fireworks overhead.

Jaime is pulled away shortly afterward since Cersei and Robert get into a screaming row. When it escalates to throwing things at each other, Margaery begs him to mediate, if only to save her family's priceless antiques. 

He vanishes up the staircase and leaves her alone to watch Renly and Loras glide across the dancefloor and feel sorry for herself. It’s not even about Renly, per se. She’s self-aware enough to accept that her childish infatuation was based more on the idea of him than the reality. No, what’s getting her down is that infernal longing to be twirled around in her beloved’s arms and regarded with such naked adoration. Why must her heart crave what it can never have?

Up until now she’s been sipping the purple concoction Margaery handed her earlier since it’s…strong. But she thinks, fuck it, her dad’s gone for the weekend so she can afford to get blind drunk and either crash here or stagger back home without her dad ever being the wiser. She’s tired of always being so uptight and anxious and _responsible_. Is it wrong to want to just…not be…for one night? She deserves to drown her sorrows and forget her troubles like anyone else. 

She tosses the tiny umbrella onto the table and downs the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Luckily, Hyle Hunt materializes at her side that very moment with another purple drink for her. 

“Perfect timing,” she says drily. She wouldn’t accept a drink from just anybody. She’s been lectured about roofies enough times for that, but Hyle’s a good guy. They were partners on a science project earlier in the year and sometimes he sits next to her in class. He’s somewhat bland, but friendly enough. And in a genuine sort of way that reminds her a bit of Renly.

He’s wearing a fiery orange pullover that’s almost blinding, but it’s borderline endearing because a poor fashion sense is something Brienne can relate to. 

He also has a rainbow feather boa jauntily looped around his neck like a scarf. Hyle turns sideways and then back as if he’s modeling it for her. “Like it? It’s all the rage in Dragonstone, I hear,” he says in a snooty tone and she snorts purple out of her nose.

Two more purple drinks later and Brienne is feeling so much more relaxed. Like a weight has been lifted. When Hyle sits next to her, she finds herself smiling easily as he jokes with her. However, she absently notes that he has to lean in rather..._close_ for her to hear him over the hubbub.

When he brushes some of her wispy hair that’s come undone from her braid back from her face and his palm lingers on her cheek, she swallows nervously.

Hazily, she thinks, this must be a prank, a trick. But then she reminds herself he's not on the basketball team, he's not even the jock _type_, so whatever this is, it doesn’t have to do with whatever those assholes cooked up for her. 

His other hand covers hers and his thumb moves over her knuckles in an unmistakable caress.

_Is this really happening? To me?_

It seems impossible. She’s only gotten uglier in the last year. Thanks to her nose having been broken playing rugby over the summer and to her hips and shoulders having spread, while her bust remains practically non-existent. 

So she has no illusions he’s actually into her for real, but maybe he’s tipsy and lonely just like her and thinks it’s easier to approach a girl who’s sort of a friend. A girl who can't really afford to be picky and should be grateful that a half-decent guy is holding her hand and touching her face. 

When he leans in to whisper in her ear and suggest they take this upstairs, she goes tongue-tied. A small part of her is intrigued, wants to know what it feels like to be kissed. But what if he expects more than that? What if he’s thinking they’ll have sex or something? It makes her brain hurt. 

Fortunately, it’s taken out of her hands. 

When Hyle pulls her to her feet, Jaime is suddenly there, plucking his arm off her shoulder as if it were a poisonous tentacle.

“The highway called, it’s missing your traffic cone,” Jaime snarks, eyeing the orange of his sweater with distaste.

“Come here, Brienne. Let's get some bread in you to soak up all that purple poison.” Jaime guides her arm over his shoulders and puts his own around her waist, tugging her close. “I’ll deal with you later, Kyle.”

“My name is…”

As she’s led away, she glances back over her shoulder and calls out, “Bye, Kyle!”

Jaime cracks up and Brienne looks at him in puzzlement. “What?” she asks, but he just shakes his head.

She stumbles against him, but he keeps her upright. She can't resist running her hand down his back to feel the cashmere as she wanted to earlier. 

"So soft...and warm," she murmurs and Jaime tenses up under her hand.

Fear grips her. Does he mind her touching him? She peers at his profile, at his clenched jaw. 

Her chin quivers. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

Jaime turns to her then and his eyes have gone huge. 

She grabs fistfuls of the front of his sweater to haul him in so they're nose to nose because suddenly it's vital that he tell her if he's not. "Do you not want to be my best friend anymore? Do you not...like me?" she asks, and thinks she might cry if he doesn't. Brienne loses her nerve, waiting for the verdict, and drops her chin to her chest to stare forlornly at her shoes.

Jaime's throat works and when he speaks, his voice is as soft as his gaze. "Yes, Brienne, I like you. I like you _very much_," he says, running his thumb lightly over her chin so she'll look at him again.

She smiles so wide it hurts and clumsily pats his cheek. "Jaime," she says in return and thinks his name on her lips sums up her position on their friendship perfectly.

He catches her hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze, causing her to marvel at just how different it feels having his hand on hers than Kyle's. It's like night and day. It's so much better...so much _more_. She blushes to the roots of her hair. 

Jaime smiles at her in such a sweet way that her legs almost go out from under her and he has to hoist her up to urge her forward. "Steady on, Tarth," he says, and she melts a little more at the ease with which he handles her.

He ushers her into the kitchen and steers her over to a stool at the juice bar. “Time to sober up.”

*****

She doesn't know whether it's down to the jolt of caffeine, the grilled cheeses, or simply the passage of time, but after a couple hours, the fog finally lifts. She feels less light-headed and fuzzy, and more like herself.

Brienne tries to thank Jaime for intervening, but he shrugs her off before she can even get the words out of her mouth. Drinking her problems away on a whim seems like utter lunacy now, as does her consideration of Hyle’s proposition. 

Oh, Hyle, not Kyle, that’s right. Of course Jaime got a kick out of that. And fuck if she didn't ask Jaime if he was hers. She wants to bang her head on the countertop.

She considers Jaime’s previous eagerness to be there the first time she got drunk. “So I’m guessing Drunk Brienne wasn’t the blast you expected.”

“Drunk Brienne scares the living daylights out of me! I don’t ever want to see her again, except in a carefully controlled environment with a strict guest list.”

Close to midnight, Jaime offers to drive her home. When they step outside, there are storm clouds gathering above and they barely make it to the car before the skies open up and it starts to pour. Thunder rumbles in the distance when he pulls up to her house.

If she hadn’t sobered up already, the clap of thunder would have done the trick. When the flash of lightning strikes overhead, Brienne flinches. 

_Galladon_.

She clasps her hands together in her lap and squeezes until her knuckles turn white, trying to get a hold of herself.

His gaze darts to her knowingly. “Your dad’s gone until Sunday then?” he asks in a casual voice that is anything but.

She nods. 

Of course a thunderstorm is how this disastrous week will end. Of fucking course.

She thanks him for the ride home and then steels herself to run inside, but Jaime kills the engine.

“Wait,” he says before slipping out and coming round to her side of the car. Then he opens her door and says, “Come on, let’s make a run for it.” 

His hand at the small of her back, urging her forward, makes her shiver slightly and she can only hope he attributes that to the cold rain that’s pelting down on them in a torrential downpour. 

After their mad dash to the door, they’re both soaked to the bone. Jaime asks to borrow some sweats. He explains that he’ll be staying at least until the storm passes and he’d rather be dry and comfortable while he waits. His tone brooks no argument and Brienne is pathetically grateful for that. She doesn’t really want to be alone just now. 

She goes upstairs and quickly towels off before slipping into her pajamas. She grabs an extra pair of pjs for him and shows him to the bathroom so he can get changed.

When he emerges, the t-shirt seems to be a pretty good fit for him, but the flannel pants are a bit long, owing to Brienne’s latest growth spurt. 

They settle in on opposite sides of the sofa and put on a Harry Potter movie marathon, turning the volume up to mask the thunder. She isn’t even conscious of it happening, but little by little they gravitate toward the center of the sofa until they’re snuggled together by the time Harry boards the Hogwarts Express.

Brienne wakes up just before dawn with her head pillowed on Jaime’s shoulder and his arm curled around her waist. She goes back to sleep and feels his arm tighten in response, clutching her more securely to him. 

*****

Curiously, she has no hangover to speak of the next morning. She guesses she has the copious amount of water Jaime made her drink last night to thank for that. "Just say no to dehydration," he'd lectured playfully, sliding yet another tall glass of H2O in front of her as soon as she'd finished the last. 

Jaime makes her pancakes and waits until she’s shoveled a big forkful of syrupy goodness into her mouth to tease her about Hyle.

“So…Kyle…what a dreamboat, am I right?” he says with a devilish glint in his eye. 

Brienne almost chokes on her mouthful and glares at him as she takes a swig of orange juice to wash it down. “You know damn well his name is Hyle. Don’t be a dick.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be accused of being a dick about someone with such unimpeachable, sterling character as Hyle Fucking Hunt. So you like him, then?” 

She shrugs. “He’s nice enough, harmless…” She’s just about to add that she doesn’t really feel that way about him though, when Jaime makes a strangled sound of derision.

He grins at her and it’s almost ugly in its viciousness. “He’s not nice or harmless. He approached you last night and made sure you got good and liquored up all so he could take advantage of you. He wanted to win the bet.” 

Brienne blinks twice, taken aback. A bet, of course. “I knew something was going on, but I thought…Hyle isn’t on the basketball team.” 

“Hyle and Red go way back. They’re thick as thieves. Fucking sociopaths, the pair of them.”

Even knowing something was afoot in advance doesn't prepare Brienne for the tidal wave of crippling shame that crashes over her at having her worst suspicions validated. 

_To be so unwanted, so undesirable, that boys consider it the height of hilarity to make a wager about pretending to date you... _

Hyle was probably struggling not to laugh the entire time that the great hideous fool was falling for his act, hook, line, and sinker. He'd probably been disgusted, his skin crawling, as he sat next to her and touched her and forced himself to look at her like he wouldn't have to put a bag over her head after he took her upstairs. The stakes must have been quite considerable to have made it worth his while. “Was the bet about…kissing me…or…”

Jaime bolts out of his chair and starts to pace. “Jesus Christ, you’re so innocent! How am I meant to protect you when you look at people with those eyes and blush with that face? You’re just so goddamn _good_ that of course fuckers want to break you down.” 

She throws her fork on her plate and stands to confront him. “They don’t target me because I’m good. They do it because I’m a freak and it’s such a riot to fuck with someone like that, someone _different_. You’re acting like I brought this on myself. I didn’t. I’m just ugly and tall and awkward, and I can’t change any of that. It’s who I am.”

“Brienne,” he says, reaching out to her, but she swats him away.

“I am on guard ALL THE TIME. And I’m just so fucking tired of it. Tired of having to fend off all this relentless nastiness from you assholes.” 

“Hey, I’m not one of them! I’m on your side!” he snarls, his voice quaking with anger.

“Are you? When it pleases you, maybe, when it’s convenient. From the very beginning you never wanted to be seen with me in public. You were ashamed of me. That’s why you sought me out in the library. I was your dirty little secret," she spits. "You didn’t want anyone to see us together and give you shit for it later.”

“That’s not fair,” he says. “That was a long time ago. Nowadays you’re the one who’s always keeping me at arm’s length, not the other way around!" 

Brienne frowns at him. “Life’s not fair. Or at least my life isn’t," she says dully. "But don’t worry, from now on I can take care of myself. You don’t need to play my knight in shining armor anymore. Any time someone…guy, girl, teacher, _whoever_...smiles at me, I’ll know there’s some shitty reason why and turn the other way. You don’t need to waste a second more of your precious time looking out for me. You just do you and I’ll do me.”

Jaime crowds her against the wall, searching her eyes. “Fuck, Brienne. I was the one who wanted to be your friend that first day at recess and _you_ rejected _me_. And after that, I liked talking to you alone so much because you were the only person I could be myself with. I value our…our…friendship more than anything. Maybe it’s selfish to want you all to myself, but I was never _ashamed_ of you! And my knight in shining armor routine or whatever the fuck is not some power trip. We take turns, remember? You save me, I save you, right?” 

Brienne feels like there’s a band around her chest squeezing tighter and tighter. “You think there are enough good deeds in the world you could do to keep me from being hounded daily? You think I don’t hear the whispers, the jokes? The way they snicker and call me _Brienne the Beauty_? Each day some asshole knocks into me in the halls because _Big Brienne_ can take it. Once upon a time you may have been able to protect me, but now? There’s so much shit being thrown at me, you’d have to be everywhere at once. And quite frankly, your feeble attempts aren’t really doing me any favors. So just stay away from me from now on.”

Jaime recoils slightly, rocking back on his heels. “Feeble attempts? Wow. You can be a real bitch when you’re hurting. This is what you always do. You try to shut me out when the shit hits the fan. And you know what? I’m tired of fighting tooth and nail to get you to let me in. To make you trust me. It shouldn’t be this hard. Not with us.”

Brienne squares her shoulders and meets his gaze with resolve. “There is no us. Not anymore,” she says coolly.

His expression darkens, but his voice is a mere thready whisper when Jaime says, “Brienne, don’t do this.”

The anguish in his voice is almost her undoing. “Please go. I want to be alone.”

Jaime’s hands ball up into fists and his face blazes with fury. For a second Brienne is sure he’ll refuse to leave and will continue arguing with her, and the thought is unbearable because she’s barely holding it together, but then he turns and collects his clothes that are still damp from the rainstorm.

On his way out, he gestures to the t-shirt and flannel pants he’s still wearing that she loaned him last night. “I’m keeping them. Because I know you’d never suggest it and I have to do everything for myself. Whatever. You’re not getting them back,” he says vengefully then stalks out the front door.

Which is so ridiculous and yet so Jaime, her heart _aches_. When she hears his car pull away, she quietly pads up to her bedroom and climbs into her bed to assume the fetal position. She stays like that until her dad returns.

*****

Jaime wears her goddamn t-shirt every day the next week and peppers her with texts: jokes (Well, that escalated quickly, huh), apologies (I’m sorry, okay? I’m a shit. But I’m your shit, Beastie), angry rants (Seriously, are you five? This cold shoulder routine is weak as fuck. Grow the fuck up, Tarth), and drunken pleas (gimme anohter chace bri id fite bare 4 u). He doesn’t physically seek her out and Brienne assumes that’s because he’s trying to be respectful and give her space and time to come around. He doesn’t understand that she’s already made up her mind.

Red, Hyle, and all the rest involved in the wager show up mid-week with nasty shiners and avoid Brienne’s gaze, scurrying in the other direction any time they see her. 

Jaime’s heroic last stand. 

Brienne can’t deny she’s moved by Jaime’s defense of her, (how could she not be?), but she refuses to waver. The truth is she doesn’t want to rely upon him anymore. Life is shit, and she needs to figure out how to handle it on her own. After Mr. Trant, Hyle is the second predator that's slipped past her defenses, the second predator she _trusted_ that Jaime has had to protect her from. She can't live her life that way, acting the gullible fool, the perpetual damsel in distress just waiting for her knight to come to her rescue. 

Sure, it’s been nice having someone give a fuck about her (not someone, Jaime specifically), but it weakens her. Because the part of her that opened up to Jaime, that welcomed his help, only made her more vulnerable. Easier just to close herself off and be done with it. Begin as she intends to go on. Alone.

When Margaery confronts Brienne about their falling out, claiming she’s never seen someone so heartbroken as Jaime is, Brienne just says it’s better this way. 

“You must see how he looks at you,” Margaery implores her.

“I’m sure he misses me, but he’ll get over it.” Brienne has no doubt there will be a veritable stampede to determine who will get to take her place in his life. After all, it’s so damn easy to like Jaime. And it won’t be his wealth or good looks that earn their undying devotion, it’ll be his fierce loyalty and razor-sharp wit. He's got to be the only drop-dead gorgeous bastard alive who's even prettier on the inside than the outside.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I saw you guys in the kitchen at my party. He was making you a grilled cheese and looking at you like…you were _it_.”

Brienne flushes so hard she can feel the tips of her ears burn. “That’s just how he is. He’s a flirt.” 

“Oh, Brienne. You’re lying to yourself if you believe that,” Margaery says, brushing a hand over hers before sweeping away.

It’s not a lie. She’s sure whatever _look_ Margaery thinks was directed at Brienne that night has been directed at countless other girls. Jaime’s always been a charmer, but in the last couple years he’s leveled up. 

After the night of his near-drowning last year when she’d foolishly thought he might kiss her, she’d sat herself down and taken stock of the situation. She’d reminded herself not to read into things. Not to take it so personally when he smiled at her or tousled her hair with affection. Not to mistake the warmth of his gaze for something more than it was. You’re not special, she told herself over and over again until it sank in, not to him…or at least not in _that way_.

That's still true today, maybe even more so. All she has to do is look in the mirror to see the reality of things. She's a girl so laughably hideous that boys would only fuck her to win a jackpot. Nobody as _beastly_ as Brienne Tarth would ever capture Jaime Lannister's heart.

The memory of them cuddling on the sofa, his arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder, drifts to the surface and she drops anchor so it sinks, never to rise again. 

*****

Jaime hangs on for a month, sending daily flurries of texts, until finally there’s one last message from him. 

‘Call me when you’re ready to get over yourself.’

The next day there’s a pit in her stomach as Brienne checks her phone and sees no new messages. She must check it a hundred times over the course of the day. By the time she gets into bed that night, she’s a wreck. She sobs into her pillow like she hasn’t since the death of Galladon. 

It’s official. She finally accomplished what she set out to do. Jaime’s given up on her.

While braiding her hair the next morning for school, Brienne’s bombarded with a deluge of memories of every time Jaime has given her braid a fond tug over the years. On a whim she grabs the scissors from the drawer and spitefully cuts her hair off. The choppy chin-length hairdo does nothing for her face, but it’s not like there’s any hairstyle that would.

Jaime does a double-take when he sees her that day and his eyes narrow. He mouths the words ‘drama queen’ and when she pretends she can’t lip-read, he mouths ‘liar’ at her. Brienne learns not to glance his way at all after that. Her resolve will crumble if she allows herself even that much. The temptation he poses is too great.

Weeks pass in a blur. A solitary existence makes for a colorless, uneventful life. Which is a good thing, she reminds herself. She’s had enough color and drama to last a lifetime. Wasn’t that the point of all this? To armor herself so completely that nothing can touch her? Mission accomplished. 

Brienne never really hears juicy gossip anymore since you need friends to hear things through the grapevine, and now that she’s avoiding Jaime, Margaery, and Sansa, she’s out of the loop. Even Renly who’s usually the one with his pulse on the rumor mill and who loves to talk her ear off in shop class is so wrapped up in his new romance that she only hears the latest by accident.

One day in spring, Brienne overhears some girls gossiping in the library. Jaime’s name snags her attention.

“No, he totally went mental! Taena says she heard Jaime freaked out and like, attacked Aerys out of nowhere!”

“But why would he do that?”

“Apparently Aerys was named captain of the baseball team and Jaime was so jealous that he flew into a rage and beat the crap out of him.”

“What a spoiled prick. He may be the star pitcher, but Aerys is a senior. Of course the coach wasn’t going to give it to Jaime. He’ll just have to wait his turn.”

Brienne tries to catch her breath as the girls move away. She has to fight the urge to follow them so she can give them a piece of her mind. Anyone who knows the first thing about Jaime Lannister could tell them their story was complete and utter bullshit.

But then later that day Renly confirms that there was some kind of altercation and Jaime’s been suspended for the week. He says that Margaery tried to talk to Jaime about it, but he was evasive.

Rhaegar is the Targaryen in her year, but she’s heard of his older brother Aerys. Everyone has. He’s the big man on campus, crowned Homecoming King this very year. She knows Jaime didn't really get on with Aerys. Jaime always said he was a sick fuck, but never elaborated on it. Still, they were teammates so he tried to make do. Brienne can’t imagine what could have changed so much to warrant a fistfight.

Aerys shows up at school the next day and Brienne has to admit he looks a sorry sight. He walks with a limp and his swollen, discolored face is basically one giant bruise. She wonders what Aerys could have done to set Jaime off like that. Because it had to be something monstrous. Maybe he hurt Cersei? That’d do it.

When Jaime finally returns to school the next week, he’s almost unrecognizable. He has dark circles under his eyes and acts like he’s on high alert, coiled tightly and ready to strike. Brienne turns away.

It’s not her business. Not anymore.

It will be months before Brienne learns what happened and why and how it all would lead to the worst day of her young life.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder and a warning that there is a school shooting in this chapter.

At age 17, Brienne is in the library at lunch on the first day of her junior year when a shooter opens fire in the cafeteria. 

At first she doesn’t understand what the _pop-pop-pop_ sound means. She looks around at the handful of students seated at the other tables in the library and sees the dawning horror reflected on their faces as the penny drops.

It’s still instinct for Brienne to locate an adult to tell them what to do, but when she turns to the front desk, the librarian is nowhere to be found.

The other students are younger than Brienne, and look to her. Most of them appear to be freshmen which means this is their first goddamn day on this campus. 

_Fuck. Okay. Breathe._

They can’t barricade themselves in here since the fucking tables are bolted to the fucking floor and there’s nothing else of size that could be moved to block the entryway that would hold up against someone trying to kick the door in.

Brienne glances around wildly for an escape route.

The window. 

“Come on,” she says, gesturing for them to follow her. They’re on the second floor, but there’s a grassy field below so they should be able to make the drop without injuring themselves.

“When your feet hit the ground, don’t wait. Run to the tree line, there, you see,” Brienne says, and they all look terribly young as they nod so earnestly at her instructions.

The window’s narrow so they have to go single file. One by one they crawl out onto the ledge and Brienne grasps their hands to help lower them partway to the ground until they can safely let go and run for cover. 

For once, she's grateful for the sheer breadth of her shoulders since it means she can wedge herself in the window's tight opening so she's properly braced to hold their weight. 

“Thank fuck,” she hears behind her and she turns to see Jaime entering the library and striding toward her with bleak determination, tugging Cersei along in his wake.

A swell of staggering relief surges up inside her at the sight of him, and Brienne feels his words in her bones because yes, _thank fuck_. She blinks rapidly trying to reassure herself he's really there. With her. 

When he reaches out to touch her cheek, her chin wobbles. She gives him a shaky nod and then forces herself to turn back to the last kid waiting on the ledge. 

“Remember what I said, the tree line,” she reminds him then grips his hands and it’s only when the boy stammers, “Th-Thanks, Brienne,” in the moment before he lets go that she recognizes him.

It’s Pod. Podrick Payne, the boy she once upon a time saved from a bully on her first day of school in King’s Landing. Tears prick her eyes as she watches him race toward the woods. 

“You’re next,” Brienne says to Cersei, but the other girl balks when she looks out the window.

“Are you kidding me? It’s too far.” Cersei spins around to glare at her brother. “You know I have a fear of heights!”

“We’ll lower you down,” he promises. “It won’t be much of a drop at all.” 

It’s the sound of approaching gunfire that ultimately compels her to climb out onto the ledge.

When Jaime extends his hands to her, Cersei snorts derisively. “Oh, please, the Beast is stronger than you,” she snaps, gesturing impatiently at Brienne to lower her down.

Cersei complains the entire time, about how Brienne’s rushing her and she’s too rough, crushing her with her man-hands, and then when the time comes, she refuses to let go. Jaime spits her name like a curse and she finally, finally drops to the grass below.

When he urges Brienne to go next, she points out the flaw in the plan that was obvious to her from the start. “I won’t fit, Jaime. My shoulders are too broad. You go. I’ll help you down and then find another way out.”

Jaime’s a bit narrower than her currently, just narrow enough to wriggle through, she hopes. She pushes him bodily in front of her, but he pushes back.

“Fuck you,” he growls. “I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Jaime leans out the window, saying, “Go,” but his sister has already disappeared beyond the tree line. He shakes his head. “Typical,” he mutters, grabbing Brienne’s hand. “C'mon, I have an idea.”

He leads her out the back door of the library and down the corridor (eerily empty because everyone else has already made their escape or found a hiding spot to shelter in place) before pulling her into the janitor’s closet. 

They waste no time in barricading the door as best they can. Then they huddle in the dark against the far wall. 

Brienne’s phone is in her pocket and she considers texting her dad. Just in case. But she worries it might make it worse for him if she does. If she types ‘I love you,’ he’ll know she saw her death coming. Better that he believe she was hopeful and caught unawares. At least if the worst happens and their bodies are found, her father will take comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone at the end.

She was with her best friend. 

They haven’t spoken in 6 months, but it feels like no time has passed at all. He still feels like her Jaime. She _knows_ him and he _knows_ her. Their bodies remember each other, too, and instinctively shift and align so they fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

She’d worried his claustrophobia might kick in with them trapped in this dark, cramped space, but Jaime’s the one in control this time, calm and focused, and Brienne’s the one riddled with panic, the one who can’t stop shaking and is clinging to him like a limpet.

When the sound of gunfire grows louder and louder, closer and closer, Jaime curses under his breath and drags her to the floor, straddling her so she’s pinned under him and the line of his body covers hers like a human shield. 

Brienne grabs onto his arms and intends to flip him over, but he presses a kiss to her cheek, effectively stunning her. Her mouth parts on a soft gasp at the sensation. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that she can see when Jaime brings a finger to his lips after he draws back, signaling that they can’t afford to make a commotion with the shooter possibly just outside the janitor’s closet. 

Jaime slowly bows his head again until their foreheads are touching. Brienne quivers as she feels his warm breath puff against her lips, his palm squeeze her hip. The sudden silence is chilling. It could mean the shooter’s moved on or that he’s lingering just beyond the door. She holds her breath as if somehow that will make the difference. 

The door knob turns then and they clutch at each other desperately as the shooter starts trying to kick down the door when it doesn’t immediately open. He fires a couple of shots through the door, but the bullets go high, far above where they’re curled together on the floor. Brienne muffles a scream against his shoulder and Jaime cups the nape of her neck, holding her to him.

The blare of sirens is like music to their ears. The shooter curses and then it sounds like he races away. 

They stay frozen in place, Jaime’s nose nudging her temple, his hand gripping hers so tightly it hurts. Brienne shakes like a leaf and hooks her ankle around his to try to anchor herself so she doesn't fly apart. They wait what feels like hours until it’s announced over the intercom that the police have apprehended the shooter, the lockdown is over, and it’s safe for everyone to come back out. 

Jaime goes to his knees and pulls Brienne up and into his arms, tugging her half into his lap. She feels small for the first time in her life as he gathers her close and keeps saying, “Shh, you’re all right, thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck.” 

She can’t suppress her whimpers anymore and she cries into his shoulder as Jaime strokes her hair. 

“_Brienne_,” he breathes, a broken, guttural rasp. When she latches onto the back of his shirt and sobs his name in return, he kisses her wet cheek and hauls her even closer.

They stay like that, rocking back and forth, for at least a half hour before venturing out into the crime scene that was once their school.

*****

In the end, 37 of their classmates are whisked to the hospital, a dozen of them in critical condition, and the shooter is taken into custody: Aerys Targaryen.

Fortunately, it didn’t all go to plan for him. If the bombs he’d planted had gone off, who knows how many lives would’ve been lost. The lack of a death toll means that the media moves on quickly. Brienne doubts anyone who was inside the school as a hail of bullets rained down will be able to do the same.

When the Lannister twins are reunited outside afterward, Cersei launches herself at Jaime, but he refuses to let go of Brienne’s hand. Instead he pulls Brienne in so they’re in a weird three-way hug. Cersei gives a squawk of outrage, but he just hushes her and gathers Brienne closer to him.

It’s awkward and bizarre, and yet Brienne can’t stand the thought of being parted from him either. Jaime doesn’t release her until her father arrives and even then it’s only grudgingly and with the promise that she’ll keep her phone on her. 

They text the rest of the day until it’s late and Brienne says they should both try to get some sleep. But of course sleep eludes her. 

She imagines being gunned down in the library, seeing poor Pod sprawled out on the carpet across from her, breathing her last only after witnessing the light go out of his eyes. 

She imagines magically squeezing through the window’s opening and vaulting down to the grass and racing toward the tree line. But when she’s reunited with all the other kids she directed there, she spots an abandoned backpack half-hidden behind a bush just before the bomb explodes. 

She imagines Aerys kicking in the door to the janitor’s closet and killing Jaime, feeling him go limp on top of her, his blood soaking into her skin as her heart shatters into a million pieces.

Her phone buzzes and she reads, ‘Knock, knock,’ before there’s a tapping noise at her bedroom window. She goes over to let Jaime in.

“You could’ve fallen and broken a limb climbing up that tree,” she scolds him, but he only smiles at her. 

“I couldn’t sleep and,” he pauses, tilting his head at her, “apparently you couldn’t sleep either so how about we not sleep together?”

He toes off his sneakers and tosses his jacket onto the dresser. She realizes she’s only wearing shorts and a tank top when Jaime’s gaze rakes her from head to toe, lingering on her legs. 

She hurries back to her bed and yanks the sheet up over her and he laughs. 

“Budge over,” he says and then he proceeds to get into bed beside her. 

Her bed is narrow enough that it’s a tight fit. The sides of their bodies press against each other, Brienne under the covers, Jaime over them, but they both seem to relax at the contact. 

"Fuck, I missed you," he says, staring up at the ceiling. 

She turns her head to look at him and bites her lip. "I missed you more," she confesses tremulously and he smiles so brilliantly at her that her eyes sting. She never thought she'd see that smile directed at her again.

"That's not possible, Beastie," he retorts, reaching out to lace their fingers together.

They’re both asleep within 60 seconds. 

When Brienne awakens the next morning she blushes hotly at how they turned toward each other in their sleep, their faces so close they’re practically sharing the same breath. His arm and leg are flung over her and if she weren’t still under the sheets and he wasn’t over, their tangled embrace would be even more indecent than it is. For his part, Jaime smiles sweetly when his lashes flutter open and he leans in to kiss the tip of her nose before rolling away. 

He climbs back down the tree so he can knock on their front door like a normal person and pretend he only just arrived at their house. Then they have breakfast with her dad and afterward Jaime joins Brienne on her porch swing out front.

“So. Aerys,” she finally says, studying his profile. “This is what last year was about then.”

Jaime stares off into the distance, his gaze clouding with memory. 

“Over the years he’d always rubbed me the wrong way. He’d say violent shit and then laugh it off. But last year he began posting twisted propaganda type BS on Facebook on the regular and then one day I saw a gun in his locker. And I just _knew_, and when he reached for it, I tackled him to the floor and started beating on him. The teachers who pulled me off Aerys decided I was the problem. Even when I told them about the gun and they saw it for themselves, they acted like he was the victim. Such is the power of the Targaryen name, I guess. Even the word of a Lannister wasn’t enough to sound the alarm. Instead it was all swept under the rug and the story that made the rounds was that I was a jealous brat who’d attacked him out of spite.”

Brienne scoots closer to him and Jaime wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“I was fucking terrified. I knew it was serious. I even went to my dad with it…and you know how I hate doing that…and he just brushed it off like it was nothing. He was angry I’d caused a scene and warned me not to embarrass him again in the future,” he says with a bitter laugh.

A muscle in Jaime’s jaw jumps as he swallows hard. “So every day for the rest of the year I watched Aerys like a hawk. I followed him _everywhere_ just waiting for him to give me a reason. I breathed such a sigh of relief when the fucker graduated and nothing happened on the last day of school. I was so happy to be wrong. I thought it was all over, that he was someone else’s problem now.”

Even just the thought of all that weight on Jaime’s shoulders makes Brienne bow her head in sympathy.

“I should’ve done more, gone to the papers, shouted it from the rooftops, done _something_,” he says fiercely and Brienne places her hand on his knee.

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with it alone. I’m sorry I pushed you away like that. I'm sorry I didn’t reach out after you were suspended. It was my turn to be there for you and I...I failed you,” she says, her voice cracking. “For all the times I saved you before, I failed you when you needed me most.”

Jaime's gaze whips around to hers and he shakes his head emphatically. “No, don’t ever say that. I could have tracked you down in the library or hell, thrown a pebble at your bedroom window. You’d have heard me out if I had. I was just too proud to be the one to contact you first and besides, I wanted to protect you. Even if you had approached me, I probably wouldn't have told you the truth. The last thing I would've wanted was for you to drive yourself mad with worry every single day the way I was doing.”

"We could've shared the burden. If I'd known, that's what I would have chosen. The last thing _I_ would've wanted was for you to be dealing with that alone," she insists stubbornly, giving his knee a brief squeeze.

Jaime tugs her in so he can kiss her forehead before tucking her head under his chin. He strokes her hair and huffs a little. “I do miss your braid, but this is nice, too.” 

Her hair’s grown to her shoulders, and recently she’d been debating whether to cut it again or let it grow out. She thinks she’ll just leave it be for now. Brienne snuggles closer and rests a hand over his chest, over his heart, as they continue to swing in silence.

*****

The next day Jaime picks up Brienne to take her to the hospital. They stop off at the mall on their way and buy candy and flowers to bring to their wounded classmates.

Addam accepts their chocolates with a broad smile. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he says, pointing to his bandaged shoulder, “but I lost a lot of blood so they decided to keep me for observation. Getting clipped hurt like a motherfucker, and still does whenever the pain meds wear off, but I’m one of the lucky ones. I should be able to go home later today.” 

While Jaime sits with Addam, Brienne visits Missy next door who’s perched at Grey’s bedside. He’s sleeping and he looks so young in his hospital gown, hooked up to all those machines. Grey wasn’t so lucky. He was shot in the back and the thigh, and it was touch-and-go there for a few hours apparently.

“At least he’s out of critical care now,” Missy says. “His color’s improved and the doctors are hopeful he’ll be ready to be released in another week or two. There will be a lot of PT after that, but we’ll get through it.”

Missy pats his hand and gives a small sad smile. 

“He was protecting me, you know. He was shot shielding me,” she says. “He’s always there for me.”

“As you are for him,” Brienne says, and Missy nods and lifts his hand to her lips.

Margaery stops by, her arms overflowing with fragrant roses from her grandmother’s famed gardens.

“Sansa’s trying to upstage me. She brought her pup Lady along with her today because she’s a certified therapy dog. I’ll hand it to Sansa, though, petting Lady has been the highlight of my afternoon. Definitely lifted my spirits. I’ll send her your way because we could all use a smile today,” Margaery says, tucking a long-stemmed yellow rose into the floral arrangement Brienne already set on the table.

Brienne and Jaime visit kids she's barely spoken two words to before, and yet it isn't as stilted or awkward as she would've expected. Because now there's this thing, this huge horrible thing, bonding them together and making them feel like they understand each other in a way no one else can. 

After a couple hours, Brienne starts to unravel a bit and slips away to an empty waiting room to compose herself. She recalls the sound of gunfire, the sound of ragged screams, the sound of her own thundering heartbeat, the sound of Jaime's, the sound of a door knob turning... Her mind whites out until strong arms encircle her waist, a broad chest plasters its warmth against her back, and Jaime's chin finds her shoulder. Her arms come up to cover his as they sway in time to a silent lullaby.

*****

It’s announced that school will reopen the Monday after next. Brienne quakes at the very thought of setting foot in the cafeteria again or the library, and she wasn’t even present for the worst of it.

Sansa calls her that weekend and shares her own concerns about returning. 

“I wish my parents would ship me off to some fancy boarding school the way Mr. Lannister is going to.”

And just like that, Brienne's blood freezes in her veins. “What?”

Sansa inhales sharply. “Oh…I thought…didn’t he tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Um, maybe I’m wrong. You should talk to Jaime…”

“_Sansa_,” Brienne says, and her friend sighs on the other end of the line.

“Well, my dad’s on the school board and I overheard him telling my mom that Jaime’s dad raised holy hell, claiming the principal and teachers and superintendent all had prior knowledge that Aerys might be a threat to us and did nothing to prevent it. He said he didn’t know whether their negligence was borne of stupidity or bought and paid for by the Targaryens, but that either way he’d be sending the twins abroad because he didn’t feel comfortable having his children educated at such a shoddily-run institution.”

Brienne hangs up. She texts Sansa quickly: ‘Sorry. I’m glad you told me, but I can’t talk about it right now,’ then throws her phone on the floor.

She _is_ glad Sansa broke the news to her instead of Jaime because now at least she can steel herself and temper her reaction when the time comes. She wraps her arms around her middle and tries to catch her breath. 

The thought of Jaime…gone…

How is she supposed to do at all without him? She only just got him back in her life. She can't lose him again. She can't. 

But it serves her right, doesn't it? She's the one who pushed him away, she's the one who threw away half of a year that could've been spent with him. 

She should be glad for him. Glad he'll get to start over somewhere else, somewhere less haunted. No one understands better than Brienne the need for a change of scenery, a fresh start. It's what brought the Tarths to King's Landing, after all. Jaime deserves to find peace, to move on. Is she so selfish that she would begrudge him that? The kindest thing she can do for him is let him go.

An hour later, Jaime’s red convertible pulls into her driveway and he rings the doorbell.

Brienne straightens her spine and lifts her chin. She can do this.

She opens the door and Jaime smiles and comes in. She waits for him to break the news to her, but he has the gall to sit on her sofa and play video games with her while _snacking_ as if everything is hunky-dory. He probably just wants to make the most of the time they have left and spare her feelings a little longer. But it is torture, sitting beside him and trying to pretend like her heart isn’t breaking.

Finally he pauses the game and turns to her. “So what’s up? You’re acting weird.”

“What’s up? Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” She tries to keep her voice even, carefully neutral, but she over-compensates and it comes out so forceful that her tone verges on rude.

Jaime furrows his brow, and that is just the limit.

She stands up and clasps her hands together behind her back so she won't fidget. “I already heard the big news. So when’s your flight?” she says mildly, aiming for breezy, but this time a plaintive note creeps in to betray her inner turmoil.

Jaime’s confusion clears and he rises to his feet and takes a step toward her. “No, I’m not…it’s just Cersei going. I told my father I was staying in King's Landing even if I had to pitch a tent in your backyard and he finally relented. I think he maybe even respected me a little for holding my ground and not running away like a coward. Cersei’s pissed of course, but she’ll get over it once she’s rubbing shoulders with the Dornish elite…”

Brienne bursts into tears, she can’t help it. The relief is overwhelming.

“Hey…hey,” he says, pulling her into his embrace. Her knees buckle and they end up in a messy tangle of limbs on the floor, clutching each other for dear life. 

Brienne buries her face in his neck and breathes him in as his hands roam her back, up and down, side to side, before settling on a soothing circular motion that makes her go soft and pliant in his arms.

Afterward she can’t even muster up any embarrassment over her breakdown because _Jaime is staying…Jaime is staying…_

*****

Everyone is on edge the first week school resumes. There’s triple the usual number of counselors onsite and Lady is one of several therapy dogs who are making the rounds, too.

Jaime drives her to and from school now, and they are attached at the hip during school hours. They also live in each other’s pocket outside of school, but Brienne tries to keep that a secret from her other friends because they’re already convinced that Jaime and Brienne are dating. 

It’s not difficult to see why they think that. For one thing, Jaime kind of always has his hands all over her and for another, Brienne kind of always _lets_ him. 

In public, where other people can see.

She's been so touch-starved much of her life that it's almost like she's making up for lost time now with Jaime. And maybe he is, too, because she's never seen him touch anyone else with such regularity or fervor. 

He holds her hand, cups her cheek, kisses her temple, tousles her hair, winds his arm around her waist and tugs her in so they are quite literally attached at the hip when they walk down the hall. It’s all way more intimate than if he simply hugged her. There's possessiveness in how he handles her, and a big part of her thrills at it. When he's wrapped around her, she is his, and she can almost pretend he is hers in return. Brienne still blushes whenever he reaches out for her, but she leans into his touch, needing it just as much as he does. Every time he touches her is proof that they survived and are together.

Brienne suspects she can thank the shared trauma they all experienced for why nobody makes the sort of cruel joke she would’ve expected like, _why would a 10 date a 1_? Everyone, even her former bullies, just acts like them becoming a couple was expected, inevitable. Brienne gets tired of correcting people, especially since they never seem to believe her when she says they’re just friends. Jaime doesn’t even try to correct them. 

Most days they go off campus for lunch and head to the park. Now more than ever, they both take comfort in the fresh air and wide open spaces. Sometimes they sit at one of the benches and sometimes they’ll bring a blanket and have a proper picnic. On the days they do the latter, they’ll lie back after eating and doze off with their fingers entwined and then they’ll be late for their next class, but it’s always worth it. Those afternoon naps are the only time she sleeps peacefully anymore.

As the weeks pass, Brienne is still overly emotional and jittery, jolting at the smallest sound. She’s in good company. Most of her classmates are the same way. All except Jaime.

Jaime is a rock. 

He’s so calm and grounded. Brienne wishes she could be half as self-contained as he’s been. She honestly doesn’t know how he does it. 

It’s not that he’s completely unaffected. He’s hyper-vigilant, bordering on obsessive. He studies people and places now as if examining them for threats, but the way he goes about it is all very controlled. She hasn’t seen him cry once or panic or even flinch the way the rest of them do a dozen times a day.

Four months after the shooting, the fire alarm goes off. All week long they’ve been warned they were going to have this fire drill so no one would panic when the time came.

Brienne turns to roll her eyes at Jaime when their teacher explains the proper procedure yet again of how they’re meant to file out when she sees that Jaime has gone ashen. His pupils are dilated and there are beads of sweat forming on his brow. 

This right now is everything catching up with him, she realizes, her heart in her throat.

She takes his hand and draws him to her. When their class files out into the hall, Brienne waits until they pass the library and then hooks a sharp left to veer off in the opposite direction. She tugs him toward the gymnasium and then out the back door, leading him under the bleachers. 

Brienne barely comes to a stop before Jaime’s grasping her and shuddering. He _weeps_, sobbing raggedly against her chest, his entire body quaking with it. Her arms come up around him and tighten, cradling him close, taking his weight, his grief, everything he has to give. 

When the maelstrom passes, Jaime is curled up around her on the grass, hugging her waist with his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair.

“I’ve got you, Jaime,” she promises, and it's the easiest thing in the world to lean down and kiss his brow.

*****

At the end of the school year, Grey is up and walking again, and Missy tells Brienne that by autumn he shouldn’t even need the cane anymore. Heartened by his recovery, Missy suggests they release butterflies on the summer solstice as a way of ushering in a new beginning.

Margaery thinks it’s a lovely idea and helps set it up. They order a dozen butterflies so their guest list numbers 12.

Missy, Grey, Margaery, Loras, Renly, Sansa, Sam, Gilly, Addam, Jaime, Brienne, and Pod are all invited. (Brienne struck up a friendship with Pod after hearing that he wants to be a librarian, too, when he grows up. Jaime likes to joke that she’s finally found herself a squire.) 

They go to the park on the solstice and it’s a gorgeous sunny day. There’s a nice breeze that makes Brienne feel like anything is possible…and it’s been ages since she’s felt that way, if ever.

“According to legend,” Missy says, “if you release a butterfly and make a wish, the wish will be carried to the heavens and be granted.”

Brienne watches as, one by one, her friends open their cases to free the butterfly within and gaze upward with longing and hope softening their features. 

Jaime looks at her and smiles that slow smile of his that never fails to make her blush. He searches her face, tracing its every contour, before his wish soars skyward.

Brienne closes her eyes and wishes for just this, the beauty of this memory to linger always – the warmth of the sun, the teasing caress of the breeze, the gentle chime of her friends’ laughter, and above all, the promise of Jaime’s smile. 

She opens her eyes and watches her butterfly take flight.

*****

I commissioned the very talented elenatria to create a piece of art for this chapter. It's from where Jaime and Brienne are trapped inside the janitor's closet during the shooting. Isn't it gorgeous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! It's a monster of a chapter (currently double the length of any previous chapter) so I'm still editing it, but it should be up in the next week. It'll be considerably less angsty than recent chapters and will feature 100x more fluff and sexy times. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's left a kudos or comment along the way. It makes me so happy to know there are folks following this story who are invested in it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who took this ride with me! I hope you enjoy the ending!

At age 18, Brienne’s life is complicated by the arrival of two foreign exchange students. 

Daenerys Khaleesi is a confident girl, petite and beautiful in an otherworldly way. She has the signature violet eyes and platinum hair that makes everyone give her the side-eye. Is she a secret Targaryen? It’s the question on everyone’s mind even if they’re too polite to ask it. Or rather, too spooked. Does insanity run in the family? is the runner-up question making the rounds.

Rhaegar was pulled out of school after the shooting last year and his family moved away to escape the scandal, so it seems strange that a long-lost relation would choose now to come to King’s Landing. Whenever anyone obliquely asks her about her origins, however, Dany arches a brow and swears she’s an only child from Dragonstone. Brienne finds her gaze unsettling and doesn’t know whether or not she believes her.

Unfortunately, Missy warms to Dany instantly and welcomes her into their group.

And even more unfortunately, Dany instantly warms to Jaime. The girl's eyes sparkle with blatant appreciation when she sits down across from them at lunch, her voice going silky smooth when introductions are made. And then there's her body language, the way she flirtatiously twirls her hair and leans in toward him whenever he speaks. 

_This is it_, Brienne thinks with a sinking feeling in her gut. This is the girl who'll steal Jaime's heart. God knows all the other guys have been drooling over her all morning. But Dany quickly saw the truth of things...that only one potential suitor in King's Landing was her match, her equal. She's made her choice and Jaime Lannister is it. Which means it's all over because there's no guy alive who would turn down such an exquisite creature. 

Masochistic by nature, Brienne can easily picture them together: The golden sun god embracing his silvery moon goddess. His arms encircling her tiny waist, hers gracefully wreathing his broad shoulders. Jaime towering over Dany, dwarfing her. His impressive stature only accentuating her delicate femininity, her elegant lines and gentle curves.

Jaime bending down to kiss her passionately, burying one of his hands in her long platinum tresses. Dany rising up on tiptoe to return his kiss, her feet leaving the ground when he effortlessly scoops her up into his arms. The adoring expression on his face as he stares deeply into her eyes and says he loves her. 

Brienne's stomach turns over and she decides she can't choke down another morsel of food. She should just go. She doesn't want to see this. Besides, if she leaves, they'll be able to get to know each other better without her playing the third wheel. 

She waits for a lull in the conversation so she can politely excuse herself, but when the time comes, Jaime's hand clamps down hard on her knee, keeping her in place. 

"Don't you dare," he hisses in her ear before launching into a lively debate with Addam and Grey about their football team's chances this year.

Jaime doesn't move his hand for the rest of the lunch period, and what's worse is he starts absently brushing his thumb back and forth over the underside of her knee until Brienne's a squirming, flustered mess. 

Later, when Dany approaches him at his locker, Brienne again tries to slink away, but Jaime latches onto her hand and refuses to let go. 

“No, you’re good,” he says to her as he angles his body away from Dany and tugs Brienne closer. 

Brienne breathes a sigh of relief at the stunning confirmation that Jaime isn't interested in Dany after all. But then flushes all over when he uses her to send the other girl a message.

Jaime puts on a real show. 

He leans in to kiss Brienne's cheek and nuzzle her temple, caresses her jawline with his free hand before sweeping a thumb over the bow of her lips. Then he says Brienne's name, and it's never sounded like that before...all simmering liquid heat. 

He's quite the committed actor.

He kisses her cheek again, this time alarmingly close to the corner of her mouth, while tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She shivers and his expression sharpens with intent and something else she can't decipher. Pulling her into his clutch, his palm roams from her waist to her hip in so suggestive a fashion that Brienne fears her legs will give out. 

Why Jaime feels the need to go to such lengths to fend off Dany is a mystery. Brienne can only assume the girl's uncanny likeness to Aerys is not merely a massive turnoff for him, but that the resemblance troubles him on some deeper level.

For her part, Dany's eyes widen with surprise and her smile falters. The disbelieving way Dany fleetingly looks between the pair of them, visibly confused by why someone so beautiful would ever be with someone so ugly, _hurts_ even if the girl didn't intend to cause offense. It actually hurts worse for that fact because it's just her honest reaction. 

Just as Brienne's honest reaction is to flinch and hang her head in shame.

Jaime grins brightly, baring his teeth in a rictus of malice. His nostrils flare as he bodily nudges Brienne behind him and steps between the two girls to loom over Dany.

"Donna, is it?" he says meanly. 

Before he can cut the poor girl down to size, Brienne swiftly intervenes. With a strained laugh, she pretends Jaime is just joking then tries to change the subject by asking Dany about Dragonstone. Dany recovers admirably and is nothing but gracious and kind to her from that day forward. After Dany's initial momentary doubt, she swallows the lie of their romance as easily as everyone else has.

Everyone except Tormund Giantsbane, that is. 

He's the second foreign exchange student spending the school year in King's Landing. He hails from the north. Beyond the wall, he says, whatever that means.

Tormund is as big and burly as he is loud and jovial, and he immediately sets his sights on Brienne herself. Neither Brienne nor Jaime are amused by his dogged pursuit of her.

It doesn’t matter how often Jaime drapes himself all over Brienne when Tormund approaches, it never seems to deter him. Probably because he’s the only one who’s not blind and can see that there’s no way someone like Jaime would ever be more than a friend to someone like her. 

At first Brienne suspects Tormund must be pranking her, and that’s why he’s laying it on so thick with her, but when she suggests as much to Jaime, he sighs heavily and informs her that no, the oaf truly has the hots for her. He can tell. “But that doesn’t mean you need to feel pressured to date him or whatever,” he hurriedly adds, shooting her a pained grimace.

He needn’t worry. A part of Brienne may be flattered that there’s a somewhat attractive, albeit rough-around-the-edges, boy who’s interested in her, but she’d never accept his advances. She doesn’t like the way he leers at her…like she’s a thing instead of a person. She doesn’t think he even knows her name. All he sees is a big, strong girl he’d like to spar with behind closed doors.

Brienne’s watched enough movies that showcase badass women who’re bold and assertive and athletic in the bedroom. She can see why some guys might be into that, but that’s not her. She may be tall and muscular, but she doesn’t want to dominate anyone else or be dominated herself. The only time she wants to do battle is on the basketball court or soccer field. 

When Tormund tries to intercept her under the mistletoe outside the library that December, Jaime gives her a little push so he’s the one under the sprig of white berries instead. Grabbing Tormund by the ears, Jaime hauls him in and delivers a mocking smack to his forehead. Then he pats him on the shoulder and sends him on his way.

On Valentine’s Day, Tormund hands Brienne a pink balloon in the shape of what she believes to be an upside down heart. She smiles wanly as she accepts it.

When Jaime stalks up to them, he’s not wearing his customary expression of exasperation or scorn that he usually dons when dealing with Tormund’s overtures to her. No, this time the expression on his face is indignant disbelief with a side of unvarnished disgust.

“What the fuck, man?” Jaime says and gives Tormund a hard shove, and Brienne can hear in his voice that she’s missing something.

“What? I’m giving her my balls. It’s romantic,” Tormund says, sounding impressed by his own ingenuity. 

Brienne gasps and peers more closely at the balloon in question. It’s like an optical illusion…one moment she sees a wonky upside down heart, and the next it’s transformed into male genitalia. Her jaw drops when she realizes the curly red waves scrawled on the underside of the balloon are meant to be pubic hairs. 

It is _obscene_. 

She hastily lets go of the balloon as if it’s scalded her, but Jaime latches onto it and yanks it down so it’s eye level. Without further ado, he uncaps his pen and pops the balloon. 

“Next time I’m coming for them,” Jaime promises, brandishing the sharp point of his pen at Tormund’s groin.

Tormund winces and covers his nether regions with his hands before waddling away.

Brienne is still aghast at what just happened, but when she meets Jaime’s eye and he cracks up, she can’t help but join in. It is just so absurd that it’s hilarious.

*****

After school Jaime drives them to his home and once they’re settled in front of a roaring fire, he reveals a sizable present that he’d hidden behind the bar.

Tears prick at her eyes and a lump forms in her throat. Friends don’t give each other gifts on Valentine’s Day, do they? But then they’re more than friends, even if they’re less than what Brienne might wish them to be. 

After the year they’ve had, Jaime has been more solicitous toward her than ever. This is probably just an extension of that, further validation of their unbreakable bond. And February 14th is a holiday about love, after all, and they do…love each other. Even if it’s not in quite the same way, it’s close enough.

“Jaime. I didn’t get you anything,” she protests, but he hushes her and tells her to open the damn present.

She tries to be gentle when she unties the gold ribbon and peels back the edge of the paper because it’s so prettily gift-wrapped it would be a crime to rip into it.

Brienne opens the box and her vision blurs as she sees what’s inside, hidden within folds of crimson velvet.

It’s a replica sword, modeled after the legendary sword Oathkeeper she once drooled over when their class went on that field trip to the museum. She remembers she was making googly eyes at it and its twin when Jaime appeared behind her.

That night when she’d returned home, she’d searched online to check how much it would cost to buy a good replica, but they were so expensive she’d known it was out of the question. She'd known that even as an adult she’d never throw that kind of a money at something so frivolous, no matter how much the blade called to her.

Brienne allows her fingertips to dance gingerly over the pommel, tracing the golden lion and running her thumb over its ruby eyes. Her chin quivers and she can’t quite make her voice work. She can’t even bring herself to look at Jaime. 

“Wait here,” he says, and she’s grateful when he leaves because it gives her some time to pull herself together.

By the time he returns, Brienne has Oathkeeper in hand and is admiring the weight of it, the hypnotic beauty of the black and red ripples.

She glances up to see Jaime holding a sword of his own, matching rubies glinting in the firelight.

“I bought a replica of Widow’s Wail for myself. It seemed right, you and I having twin swords. And they’re not just decorative to put on your wall, they can be used for fencing and combat reenactment and shit.” He sounds uncertain in a way he almost never is. “Don’t laugh, but I thought we could maybe learn to use them for real. I looked into it and there’s a class offered nearby that's entitled something pretentious like Medieval Swordsmanship in the Modern Era. I thought maybe we could try it out, you know, for fun.”

Brienne just stares at him for a long moment then turns to sheath her sword and carefully, oh-so-carefully sets it down. Then she reaches out to take Jaime’s blade and gives it the same respectful treatment. 

Once their swords are safely out of the way, Brienne goes to Jaime and presses her lips to his cheek before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. When his own encircle her waist, he releases a shuddery sigh before kissing the shell of her ear.

“I did good, didn’t I,” he says and she smiles.

“Yes, you did good,” she agrees.

It starts snowing shortly thereafter and they bundle up so they can take an evening stroll. Jaime holds her mittened hand in his and they hum _Winter Wonderland_ because they’re drunk on being co-sword owners and it seems like the thing to do. As the snowflakes swirl around them and she catches one on her tongue, she strongly suspects her former happiest memory has been edged out by this day. But it still includes her two favorite things: snow and Jaime.

*****

In late March, Tormund sidles up to Brienne and is uncharacteristically soft-spoken as he apologizes for Valentine’s Day and says he meant no offense. “I just really liked you and wanted to show you that, but I didn’t show it in the right way. I’m so sorry. I respect you, Brienne,” he says and he appears proud of himself for using her name.

Brienne spots Jon Snow lurking behind a trash bin and shooting Tormund a covert thumbs up when he glances at him. Well, at least she knows who she has to thank for coaching Tormund to be something approaching civil. 

“I was hoping you could give me another chance,” he continues. “The prom is coming up and I think we could have a good time together…”

She opens her mouth to respond, but suddenly Jaime’s there at her back, looping an arm around her shoulder.

“Sorry dude, but she already said yes to me. I’ve already ordered the corsage and limo and everything…it adds up, huh?” Jaime drawls with an obnoxious smirk.

Brienne turns to Jaime and he begs her with his puppy dog eyes to go along with it.

“Could you excuse us for a second,” she says stiffly to Tormund and doesn’t wait for a reply, just hauls Jaime into an empty classroom.

Before she can get a word out, Jaime rounds on her and shakes his finger at her.

“Don’t do this. Don’t say yes to him to be polite because he beat me to the punch. Doesn’t that fucker know you don’t just ask a girl to prom in the middle of the hall like a rube? I had an elaborate scavenger hunt planned that would’ve taken you on a poignant stroll down memory lane until the breadth of our history made you weep. I was all set to sing a rousing rendition of _In Your Eyes_ after you solved the final riddle. I’ve been rehearsing for weeks and Tyrion says my vocals are getting there. But no, that dumbass had to go and ruin my goddamn immaculate plans by asking you to prom in the motherfucking hall all casual-like as if that’s remotely good enough for you. Fuck him.”

Brienne is stunned and can only stand there with her mouth agape.

“Fair warning: if you go back out there and accept his invitation, I’ll be forced to ask Dany to be my date to the dance to get back at you. Even though her violet stare makes me feel like someone has walked over my grave and there’s a 99% chance she’s a psychotic Targaryen who may or may not have a vendetta against me, I see no other alternative. But hey, at least she didn’t give me a balloon in the shape of a clitoris for Valentine’s Day so my date will still be an upgrade from yours.”

Jaime flashes her a shit-eating grin and Brienne rolls her eyes, trying desperately to conceal the fact that her heart _withers_ at the thought of Dany on Jaime's arm. Given more time together, Dany just might win him over and beguile him with her charms the way she has the rest.

“I will then, of course, have to insist we make it a double date. Because make no mistake, I’m going to be on your prom date, one way or another, even if I have to share you with two other people,” he says as if that’s simply unavoidable. “So picture it, the four of us trapped in the back of a limo, the air thick with our unresolved sexual tension. We crack a window when our dates start to choke on it. But we shrug it off as we always do. Anything to keep up the pretense that we’re just the very best of bros. No jealousy or pining or true love to see here, no siree. We’ve gotten good at denial, you and I.”

_Jealousy…pining…true love…_

A part of her yearns to head for the hills. She’s hidden for so long that being exposed like this is frightening. But Jaime’s saying that she’s not alone in this after all. That he’s there, too. And the knowing look in his eye makes her brave, keeps her rooted to the spot. 

“After arriving at the dance, we finally have our picture taken, but I insist we all squeeze in together for the shot because fuck if I’m not going to be in your prom photo, Brienne. Tormund then pulls you onto the dance floor and when his hand inevitably migrates to your ass, I have no choice but to make good on my threat and stab him in the testicles. He writhes in agony until an ambulance is called to rush him to the hospital. Which is convenient because then you’re freed up and I can ask you to dance as I’ve been wanting to do all night. As we sway in each other’s arms, you realize what a huge mistake you made and that it’s been me all along. Because of fucking course it’s me,” he says fiercely and she can tell that last line’s been on the tip of his tongue for ages. 

Jaime’s eyes gleam with intensity as he struggles to rein himself in. “And just when we’re slowly leaning in to share our first magical kiss, Dany, who’s been feeling rightfully neglected all evening long and who's gotten well and truly plastered by this point, chooses that exact moment to stagger over and puke all over us. I try to bob and weave, but my foot slips out from under me and I faceplant on the DJ stand and break my nose. How will you feel then? Think of it: Tormund’s mangled balls, your prom dress _ruined_, my nose gushing blood like a motherfucking faucet, and the glint of triumph in Dany’s eyes that she killed two birds with one projectile vomit. Do you want all that on your conscience? Do you?”

“Christ, _your mind_,” Brienne breathes, impressed in spite of herself. “You’re becoming a bestselling novelist and that’s all there is to it.”

Jaime steps closer. All traces of humor vanish from his face to be replaced with a seriousness that makes her heart skip a beat. “Say yes to me.”

She licks her lips nervously and his gaze dips to her mouth before he cocks his head to the side in challenge. And she won’t back down from it, from him, not this time. “I didn’t hear a question.”

Jaime smiles softly because he knows he has her now. “Brienne Tarth, will you go to prom with me?” 

She draws it out a moment, mostly so she can take a breath to ensure her voice won’t falter. “Yes.”

“I’d kiss you right now, but we can do better than an abandoned classroom for our first kiss, I think.”

They do indeed do better.

*****

The day of the prom Brienne goes with Margaery to have their hair done professionally. Brienne sticks with a braid, but the stylist manages something a bit more intricate than anything she could have managed herself. She thinks it looks serviceable as does the simple blue dress that Sansa had helped her pick out the week before.

It’s a strapless satin shift that flares out at the waist and comes to mid-thigh. Brienne had wanted something a little longer that came to her knee, but she’d been overruled. Sansa had said the color really set off her eyes and Margaery had said forget about her eyes, her legs look like they go on for days. Then she’d shoved a pair of three inch high heels at her.

The night of the prom it only takes one glance in the mirror to confirm that the ugly duckling has not magically transformed into a beautiful swan. But it's possible she's closer to plain than ugly for once in her life, and that's probably the best that can be expected. If she shuts her eyes and twirls in place, she likes how the shimmery skirt of the dress billows out around her. 

Her dad smiles when he sees her and he gets choked up as he gives her earrings that belonged to her mother. After she puts them on, she glances back in the mirror to admire the sparkling sapphires and maybe feels the tiniest bit pretty.

When Jaime shows up at her door with a corsage in hand, Brienne is there to greet him and he honest to god _gulps_. His eyes darken, pinning her with his stare. He looks at her like...like gazing upon her pleases him in some profound way.

She blushes and stammers out a compliment about his tux. (There's a chance she might've called him 'dashing' in the process and then instantly wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole, but she'll deny it to her dying day.)

They’re both a little clumsy and unsure when her dad snaps pictures of them, and the thought that Jaime isn’t all slick and composed like usual helps her relax slightly. It makes her feel like they’re on an equal footing. And speaking of equal footing, Brienne isn’t used to wearing heels so when she stumbles leaving the house, she gladly takes his arm. 

The limo ride is awkward in the extreme. Jaime keeps opening his mouth and then closing it as if he can’t decide what to say. And Brienne is too busy being mortified that her dress has ridden up and there’s way too much of her legs on display to even attempt to make conversation.

When she tries to tug on the bottom hem of her dress, Jaime notices and stares at her legs for so long she elbows him in the ribs.

“Oof, sorry,” he says, sounding not sorry in the least. “You look fucking incredible. Your legs. Your eyes. Your freckles. And then there’s all the blue and the goddamn braid. You’re killing me!”

“Don’t mock me,” she says, and she knows the second the words are out of her mouth that he isn’t. But it’s a reflex. It’s just…his flattering compliments seem so far-fetched that her heart screams to her that it can only be a cruel joke even though her head tells her otherwise.

Jaime regards her steadily. “I’m not mocking you. Your legs and eyes are objectively fucking incredible. End of story. But I concede that my appreciation of your freckles and braid probably falls under the category of personal preferences, like how some guys are drawn to brunettes or girls with tattoos. Everyone has a type. And my type is apparently leggy and freckled with great eyes. She also conveniently styles her hair in a braid I can tug on because secretly I’m still five years old and that’s the only way I can show her I like her. What’s your type?”

Brienne tries to remain impassive, but it’s a losing battle. “Redheads who give me obscene balloons, I guess,” she quips and Jaime lunges at her, tickling her until she’s giggling so hard she can’t breathe.

“Take that back,” he keeps saying.

Finally she calms down enough to say, “Oh, fine. Green-eyed blonds who talk a mile a minute and who drive red convertibles and steal my fries when I go to the bathroom…”

“Specific. Seems like we might be verging on fetish territory here,” he says, wiggling his brows at her until she swats his shoulder.

Their limo comes to a stop and Brienne makes Jaime shield her from view as she exits the vehicle so she doesn’t accidentally flash anyone on her way out. 

After they say their hellos to their friends and take a bunch of pictures with them, a slow song begins and Jaime leads her to the dance floor.

In her heels she’s a few inches taller than Jaime, but he doesn’t appear to mind. He wraps his arms around her waist and she laces hers around his neck. They sway gently, and it’s less complicated than the dance steps they learned in gym class when they were kids. But more complicated in other ways, she muses, as she quivers slightly when he pulls her closer.

“Do you want to hear something funny?” he says conversationally, his hand tracing idle circles over the small of her back. “Technically, this is our _second_ date, by my count.”

She looks at him quizzically.

“I asked you out on a date when I offered to take you to the Tyrell’s party when we were 16. I thought you understood. I wore green which you’d told me was your favorite color and I opened the car door for you and everything. I thought it was obvious. I didn’t know you didn’t see it that way until I saw you with Hyle on the couch. Pretty pathetic, huh.”

Brienne thinks back on the night in question and she views everything in a new light. “You were jealous of Renly,” she realizes.

He laughs. “I saw how you looked at him, but I thought when he finally came out of the closet, you’d move on.”

“I did move on. It was just a crush,” she says tersely. She hasn’t thought about Renly that way in years. “I didn’t even really know him. He was just nice to me…”

“_I_ was nice to you,” Jaime argues, and it's clear this sticks in his craw.

“Yes, but that’s different. Having a crush on an unattainable person is one thing, but you still want to anchor it in reality. Renly was out of my league, but still in the same damn universe. Unlike you.”

Jaime lights up, his eyes shining with amazement. “Oh my god, Brienne. That is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me. And also the most absurd. For fuck’s sake, you could’ve _attained_ me at any point in time.”

She struggles with processing that revelation. Even now, dancing in the circle of his arms, the notion that he's interested in her for real, has been for some time, rings hollow. It feels like any moment she's going to wake up to discover this was all a dream. 

He spins her around and something Jaime said before pricks her memory. “Wait, you said you wore green because it was my favorite color. How did you know that? I thought you didn’t remember anything that happened the night of Sansa's party.”

“Funny story: I lied," he admits cheerfully. "It seemed to be a disaster all around, beginning with you walking in on me with Pia and ending with me stripping down to my boxer briefs, almost drowning, and reminding you of the brother you lost. Oh, and I also vomited in front of you and collapsed so you had to help me dress before lugging my drunk ass home. I thought it was best if we just pretended none of it happened.”

Brienne recalls being disappointed when he claimed no memory of the night. She studies him for a beat and decides he deserves to know the truth. “That’s not how I remember it, Jaime.”

Something in her voice makes him look at her with keen interest. “How do you remember it?”

She doesn't know how to say 'you wiped frosting off my lower lip, you offered me your arm, you took my face between your hands and looked at me like - what was it Margaery had said? - like I was _it_.'

So instead she says, “I remember us playing Truth or Dare as we walked home. It was nice. You told me…”

“I told you my happiest memory was when you said I wasn’t an idiot and made me believe it. Yes, I know. I remember the walk home, too…Green. Snow. Rains. Kiss. I was listening to every answer you gave, every bit of yourself you were willing to show me, and I never forgot any of it.” Jaime pauses and then takes her hand. “Come on, let me show you something.”

There’s a gazebo outside illuminated by countless strands of fairy lights. “Better than an abandoned classroom?” he asks and her heart races at what he’s implying.

Her mouth goes dry, but she nods. At her shiver, he shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders, reeling her in by the lapels.

“I asked you this question once before, but I want to ask you again and I’ll answer, too. If you could kiss anyone, anyone at all, who would it be? I’ll go first. It would be you, Brienne. It would’ve been you back then and it’s still you now. Your turn.”

Her palm is clammy in his and her face is unbearably hot, but she tries to rally. “It’s always been you,” she admits.

She barely gets the words out before Jaime leans in and fits his mouth to hers. Brienne responds shyly, mimicking the movement of his lips against hers.

It’s surprisingly sweet and gentle. Everything a first kiss should be, she thinks, marveling at the idea that this memory could be hers to keep. 

His hand whispers over her cheek, angling her head so he can deepen the kiss. When Jaime licks into her mouth, she gives a pleased little hum.

After they slowly draw apart, they can’t stop smiling at each other goofily. By unspoken agreement, they go back inside and dance the rest of the night away.

In the limo on the ride home, Brienne sheds her heels and Jaime rubs her aching feet. He has to wrestle her to do it because she finds it improper for him to touch her bare feet in such a way, and it's doubly improper the way her dress gets hiked up further in the process.

But when he blows on his hands to warm them up and grapples with her to take her foot hostage, when he slides his thumbs over the ball of her foot before sinfully driving them into her arch, she sags back in her seat and waves a white flag. 

Jaime smirks with savage pride and commits to the foot-rub with true dedication, doing everything within his power to make her melt into a puddle of goo by the time she returns home.

At her front door, she has her second kiss and it’s just as magical as her first. 

When she goes up to her bedroom that night, she receives a text from Jaime - r u my gf? Y or N?

Brienne touches her kiss-stung lips and types Y.

*****

Nobody treats them any differently after prom because everyone already thought they'd been a couple for over a year and a half.

Brienne is acutely self-conscious, though, every time Jaime showers her with PDAs, even after he reminds her that technically he's not doing anything new. She can’t explain why she gets so flustered now when they hold hands in front of their classmates when she didn't before, but something has definitely shifted.

She draws the line at kissing in public.

“Embarrassed to be seen sucking face with me?” Jaime snarks, but he’s diligent about locating secluded spots around the school where they can sneak off and well, suck face without an audience.

Jaime’s kisses are so intoxicating that the mere thought of doing anything more… _physical_ feels dangerous. 

She knows he’s more sexually experienced than she is. Most other 18 year olds are, considering she’d never even been kissed before prom night. 

When they'd previously compared notes about the six months they were estranged, Jaime had alluded to going on a bender the summer after their sophomore year. He'd said he was fucked up at the time because they weren’t speaking and he was still bitter and angry about what went down with Aerys. So he and his brother visited Dorne for a couple weeks and they…_over-indulged_. 

Brienne hadn't really wanted to know the details at the time. But now that they're a couple, it seems necessary to revisit the subject. Jaime is evasive, but he says enough that she gathers she has his hedonistic vacation to thank for why he’s so skilled at making her unravel with a single kiss. 

“But I’ve never been with someone I cared about before,” he says. “I don’t even remember any of their names.”

Brienne blanches at the casual plurality of his phrasing. Just how many names did he forget exactly?

Jaime rushes to explain. “What I meant to say is that you were the first kiss I ever had that _mattered_. Because you matter to me more than anyone else ever has. So it’ll all be new for me, too, with you.” 

It’s a nice thought, but Brienne can’t help but wonder if he’ll compare her to his string of anonymous Dornish beauties and find her lacking. 

In some ways, Brienne’s even shyer with him than she ever was before, even more tongue-tied when he flirts with her. Over the last year, she let him run his hands all over her, but it feels different now since it’s not just about comfort or affection anymore, it’s about desire. 

There’s intent there, and sometimes when he’s kissing her and touching her, it’s so intense and consuming she gets scared and needs to withdraw. 

His hand will be on her jaw, his tongue will be in her mouth doing something wicked that makes her _throb_, and she’ll have to pull away because it’s just too much. The first time it happens, Brienne licks her lips nervously and is terrified to look Jaime in the eye because she's certain she'll see anger or frustration or disappointment. But he only chuckles a bit and apologizes for getting carried away. 

He makes a joke of turning away from her so he can calm down because the sight of her "drives him wild." She calls him a liar and he rolls onto his back, glances pointedly at his tented lap, and dares her to come closer if she truly doubts his word. She keeps her distance and blushes to the roots of her hair. 

Another time they’re doing their homework on the floor of Jaime’s bedroom and he drags her into the v of his legs, tugging her closer until his chest blankets her back. Brienne valiantly tries to focus on reading her book as Jaime nibbles on her earlobe and neck. Her vision blurs and her breath trips over itself as he kisses her neck, as his thumb rubs little circles over her hipbone.

It’s when something pokes her backside and his thighs clamp around her own, so his groin is _hugging_ her ass, that she feels like she’s stepped off a cliff and is dangling in mid-air. 

When he moans against her neck, sending vibrations to the very core of her, and his hips start to move restlessly, his cock grinding against the small of her back, she tumbles into free fall, going white-hot at the thought that he’s _humping_ her. Brienne scrambles away and Jaime instantly holds up his hands in apology and almost falls flat on his face in his haste to make sure she's okay. 

And the thing is she doesn’t want him to be _sorry_. She desperately wants him just like this…just not yet. Just slower. Her face flames as she tries to explain and it’s a lot of mumbled half-aborted phrases that make no sense. And yet the lightbulb must go off, because after this, Jaime’s much better about checking in with her, sensing when she's overwhelmed and backing off.

He’s a quick study. Fast as lightning, he learns the difference between a good squirm from Brienne and a too-good-too-much-must-flee squirm. He learns when she wants to be coaxed and when she needs space.

In truth, Jaime’s so sweet about taking it slow that Brienne walks around with a permanent blush and the tiniest of smiles on her face. Jaime’s smugness, however, is off the charts. He resembles nothing more than the cat that got the cream. It’s not surprising that Margaery takes this all to mean that they finally fucked. 

Brienne refuses to deny it when Margaery asks for details because she knows she’s just delaying the inevitable. Just like everyone thought they were dating before they were actually dating. 

They _will_ fuck. It’s a prediction that will come true.

Even though they’re moving at a glacial pace, every day they get a little bit closer to it. Every day she lets his kisses deepen for that tiny bit longer, lets his hands wander a little more freely. It’s only a matter of time, and she’s as excited by the prospect as she is terrified. 

After school one day in May, Jaime presses Brienne into the cushions of her sofa and is kissing her so slowly yet so thoroughly that she feels drugged. “Let me…let me,” he begs quietly when he toys with the bottom hem of her shirt and she does. 

Her breathing goes haywire as he slips his hand under her shirt and cups her breast over her bra, thumbs her nipple. When he unhooks her bra and draws her shirt up, she barely has the chance to worry about his reaction before his mouth is on her breast, suckling, and then her fears just scatter like a dandelion in the wind.

In June, after another thrilling sword fighting lesson, they barely make it to his car before Jaime’s crowding Brienne into the backseat. His leg pushes between hers and he ruts against her hip frantically as she sucks on a sensitive spot just below his earlobe that drives him crazy.

He squeezes her denim-covered ass, urging her to meet him thrust for thrust, and suddenly his thigh rubs against her in just the right way and she can’t resist sinking her teeth into his skin. Jaime comes with a jagged cry, burying his face in her shoulder.

They lie there afterward, with her mouth against his neck and his hands stroking her ass until they catch their breath. 

It’s pure instinct when she spreads her legs and wraps them around his waist, guiding him to settle on top of her. Brienne’s not ready for the real thing yet, but she wants to feel him between her legs, feel his weight on her. 

Jaime’s eyes glitter dangerously, his expression going feral, as he pins her beneath him and lets her feel his heft. He tucks her wobbling chin between his index finger and thumb and leans down to kiss her deeply. When she whimpers softly, he curses roughly and grips her thighs, urging her to wrap them even more snugly around him so there’s not a sliver of daylight between them. 

His hands on her, so insistent and possessive, gives her a shimmery thrill that makes something inside her screw up tight in anticipation.

In July, it’s one of those lazy hazy crazy days of summer where they play video games and watch TV and lounge about. Her dad won’t be home for hours so they wind up in Brienne’s bed, leisurely trading kisses. 

He’s shirtless and she’s only wearing a tank top and shorts because her house doesn’t have air conditioning and it’s a scorcher. Jaime had purred when he discovered she was braless and he didn’t have to fuss with a clasp to get to her bare breast. The heat makes them almost languid as they roll around together. 

There’s no real intent or urgency which is probably why it’s so easy for Brienne to take his hand and guide it between her legs, over the flimsy shorts she’s wearing.

His breath hitches in surprise, but then his gaze sharpens. Jaime drags his knuckles over her inner thigh, watching her tremble at his touch. 

His hand slides all the way up her thigh and touches her through her cotton shorts, his fingers feather-light, but moving just enough she can feel them like a brand. When the heel of his palm applies a little more pressure and begins rubbing her with purpose, Brienne inhales sharply and bites her lip. 

He strokes her like that for a bit while he kisses her sweetly. She blushes and squirms and tries to kiss him back, but her mind has slowed to a crawl and she struggles to keep up with him. He’s rendered her useless and dumb with want. Eventually, she just gives up and lets her mouth go slack which Jaime takes as an invitation to suck on her tongue. And that just makes her blush and squirm even more.

When he finally reaches for her waistband and slips his hand inside both her shorts and her underwear, Brienne tenses up at the sensation of skin against skin. But he only touches her in the same undemanding way, petting her blonde curls until she relaxes into his touch and spreads her legs a little wider. He gives an approving hum and takes the opportunity to tug her shorts and underwear down over her hips.

"That's better," he says quietly, tickling her inner thigh until she huffs a nervous breathy laugh.

When his thumb circles her clit, the laugh turns into a strangled yelp and her hips lift of their own accord. 

“Feel good?” he asks, stroking her so attentively that she's driven to distraction.

Her mouth is open and her breath is coming in rapid puffs. She's _panting_. She can’t help it. She gives a jerky nod. “Yes, it feels…I need…” She doesn’t know what she needs other than more. She arches her back, her whole body yearning for it.

“Shh, I know. Here, Brienne.” Jaime kisses her temple as his index finger traces the seam of her and then dips inside her.

_“Oh.”_

His face hovers over hers, intently studying her every reaction as he touches her. And the sunlight is pouring in so Jaime can see _everything_…

Her convulsive gasps become whimpers, faint needy cries torn from the back of her throat. 

_Unh unh unh_. 

Brienne cringes at the wounded little sounds she’s making, but can’t seem to swallow them back. Mortified, she shuts her eyes, but then he touches her face with his free hand, scuffs his thumb over her brow, kisses each closed eyelid. "Now, now, none of that," he says. "Don't hide from me. I want to see you." 

When she musters up the nerve to open her eyes again, Jaime smiles warmly. "There she is, there's my girl."

She _keens_ as he adds another finger and he releases a ragged, drawn-out moan in response. "Fuck, Brienne, you feel..." He shakes his head as if no word will suffice. 

“Jaime…please…” she begs of him, clawing at his back to try to anchor herself.

And Jaime just keeps working her over, hushing her and calling her sweetheart and darling and baby, endearments he never has before because he knows Brienne would only laugh, but she’s not laughing right now. 

"Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear you..." When her hips start instinctively thrusting in time with his fingers deep inside her, his voice goes low and scratchy. "Good girl, there you go, take what you need. Fuck, so close...so close..."

She’s quivering and she _hurts_ she needs it so much and Jaime’s just watching her the entire time and it’s…it’s…

“Let go,” Jaime murmurs, crooking his fingers _just so_, and she does. 

Fireworks go off behind her eyes and a rippling wave pulls Brienne under, making her toes curl. 

He eases her through the aftershocks, his touch gentling as he kisses her cheek and says how perfect she is, how beautiful, how she was made for him. 

She'd never let him get away with saying such things when she’s in her right mind. Because she's neither perfect nor beautiful, and if one of them was made for the other, it's clearly Jaime that was made for her. But right now in the afterglow, she craves his absurd sentimentality. His kind words and tender caresses make her feel taken care of, cherished, loved.

There are tears on her face, honest to god tears, because he made her feel so good she cried. Brienne didn’t know that was possible. 

Jaime wipes her tear-stained face and hushes her when she gives one last sniffle. When she finally stops shaking, he tugs her underwear and shorts back up and gathers her close so her cheek is resting over his heart.

Brienne runs her hand over his chest and feels the tension there. She glances down and sees he’s hard. Jaime seems in no hurry to rub off against her, but that’s not what she wants today anyway.

She fumbles with the drawstring at his waist and he gently takes her hand in his and brings it to his lips. 

“You don’t have to,” he says after pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t want you to feel like that’s how it is between us. That anything is ever owed…”

“I know, Jaime. I want to touch you.”

And for once, Jaime Lannister is the one blushing. Brienne has only a moment to appreciate the endearing rosy hue that tints his cheeks before he releases her hand to shuck off his shorts and toss them on the floor.

Stretched out before her in all his glory, Jaime is as gorgeous as she would’ve expected. And he smirks because he damn well knows it. The radiant sunlight sets his golden skin aglow and he folds his arms behind his head to bask in her appraisal, practically begging her to look her fill. 

Brienne scoots closer and curls her hand around his cock before she loses her nerve. At least the smirk falls off his face at that to be replaced with stark desire.

“Show me,” she says, and he molds his hand to hers and presses so she knows to grip him a little tighter and guides her into the rhythm he likes. The stunning intimacy of them stripping his cock together, of her listening to the rasp of his increasingly labored breathing, makes her mouth water and goosebumps form on her skin. 

When his hand withdraws, her courage momentarily deserts her, however, and she feels a twinge of doubt.

Brienne can't help wondering if Jaime minds that her hand is as big as his. That she has the same calluses on her palm from their sword fighting lessons that he possesses. Maybe her touch bores him since the sensation is so similar as to be indistinguishable from his own. Maybe he'd prefer some delicate girl with small, soft, feminine hands touching him like this...

“Jaime, is this…am I..?”

His voice is gratifyingly low and gravelly and _raw_ when he says, “Fuck, yes, just like that. Christ, your hand. So fucking good. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. 

Jaime keeps up a steady stream of commentary after that, vocalizing his every lustful thought. The palpable desperation and need in his guttural ravings reassure Brienne in ways little else could.

She understands now why Jaime watched her so intently before. She can’t tear her eyes away from him. There’s something so compelling, not to mention arousing, about touching him and seeing him respond and knowing she’s the one making him gasp and shudder and flush. She feels powerful, knowing she can have this effect on him, but also protective.

“_Brienne,_” he says, and it sounds like he’s the one pleading with her now.

And she’d give him anything he wants, anything at all, right now. Her hand starts flying over him and when her thumb flickers over the tip, Jaime jerks and comes with a shout.

After he’s cleaned up with some tissues and his shorts are back on, there’s awe in his eyes when he draws her in for a kiss.

“I love you,” Brienne says against his lips. It just slips out without thought. And before she can regret her decidedly unromantic choice of timing and location for her declaration, Jaime lights up with a smile of pure joy.

“Say it again,” he demands and she does. Over and over again at his command until she insists he fucking vocally reciprocate already.

“Why should I?" he teases with a wicked glint in his eye. "You already know I do. I was never the question mark in our particular equation, was I?” 

When she keeps glaring at him, he finally relents. 

“Fine. I love you, Brienne Tarth. I knew I loved you after the elevator jam. And I fell _in love_ with you when you came over to tutor me and got up in my face and told me to do better because you believed I could. Now don’t you feel guilty? Knowing I reciprocate a bit _more_ than you reciprocate?” 

Brienne sincerely doubts his timeline, but she knows better than to challenge him on it. “Just because it took me longer to recognize my feelings for you doesn’t mean they’re weaker than yours,” she says with a huff.

“I’m going to need the exact time and date of your revelations, Beastie. I show you mine, you show me yours. Fair's fair.”

“Didn’t you say a few minutes ago that nothing was ever owed between us?” Based on his flinty stare, Jaime doesn’t find her remotely amusing. She thinks back and it’s easy now to see the truth. “I loved you when you burst into the room and took my hand and led me out of Mr. Trant’s classroom. I knew I was in love with you when you almost drowned and I was yelling at you and you apologized and got this look on your face like…the one you’re wearing now,” she trails off as Jaime cups her cheek.

“I wished for you. That day with the fucking butterflies. I wished for this, for us,” he says gruffly before sweeping her into his arms and covering her mouth with his.

*****

As time marches on, Brienne bitterly regrets pushing Jaime away for so long out of fear. She wasted so much time. College is right around the corner and before she knows it, they’ll be headed in opposite directions. And it’s not just them. All their friends are scattering to the four winds.

Aside from Renly and Pod who will be staying in King’s Landing to finish high school, Margaery and Loras will be going to Highgarden. Sansa to Winterfell. Missy and Grey to Naath. Sam and Gilly to Horn Hill. Addam and Jaime to Casterly Rock. Brienne to Evenfall.

And after two years away, Cersei will be returning to the area to attend Casterly Rock, too. Brienne knows that the twins had a rocky time of it before, but maybe Cersei grew up during her time abroad and will prove to be a better friend to her brother now. Brienne dearly hopes so, but she won’t be holding her breath.

Brienne will miss her friends desperately, but the idea of a Jaime-less existence feels akin to one of her limbs being lopped off. For two years they've been practically inseparable. She hasn't even had to go a single day without seeing him in that time. She is sure their imminent separation terrifies Jaime just as much as it does her, they just express it in very different ways. 

Jaime rhapsodizes about how great technology is, sharing detailed plans for how they’ll Skype daily and take turns visiting each other on alternate weekends. He jokes about Brienne needing to get over her hang-ups about sexting because it’ll be the key to keeping the passion alive between weekend visits. For her part, Brienne just buries her head in the sand and lives in denial since it’s too painful to do otherwise.

Margaery throws an end of the summer bash and invites everyone. It’s Brienne's last chance to see them all. Tomorrow she'll be heading off on a weeklong road trip with her dad before college starts. The party is a timely distraction. Hopefully it'll keep her from spending the day in the depths of despair, crying her eyes out at her impending departure.

To appease Sansa, Brienne buys a modest one-piece bathing suit to wear under her floral sundress, knowing full well she has no intention of taking off her wrap at the party. And when she glances around at the girls in their string bikinis playing water volleyball, every last one petite and with curves in all the right places, she stands by her convictions.

Jaime thumbs her cheek. “You’re beginning to burn. I told you you should have worn a big floppy hat,” he says, uncapping his tube of sunscreen. 

He starts dabbing it on her face and swats her hand away when she tries to apply it herself. Then he makes a little twirling motion and when she turns around, he sweeps her braid over her shoulder so her back is exposed.

He warms it between his palms before rubbing the lotion into her shoulders. Once he’s satisfied, he lazily traces a finger from freckle to freckle on her right shoulder as if he’s connecting stars in a constellation. 

By the time he’s done Jaime is as flushed as she is.

“Come here,” he says, taking her hand to tug her away from the crowd. He draws her to the other side of the Tyrell estate. While passing by one of their elaborate gardens, Jaime plucks a blue flower to tuck behind her ear.

“Margaery’s grandmother will hunt you down if she ever finds out you did that,” Brienne says and she’s not joking. Olenna Tyrell is a formidable matriarch who takes great pride in her award-winning gardens. She will have Jaime’s head if this ever comes to light.

But Jaime just scoffs as if he’s not afraid. 

He leads her through the hedges to a secluded hot tub, saying Margaery gave him special permission to bring Brienne there since she knew it was their last day together and they might want some privacy.

Even after all they’ve shared, Brienne still experiences a flutter of self-consciousness at the idea of wearing her bathing suit in front of Jaime. She knows that he knows what she looks like, but somehow that doesn’t matter. 

Jaime eyes her knowingly as if her insecurities are written all over her face. “C’mon, it’s just us now. There’s no one you need to hide from,” he says coaxingly. “Although I still don’t see why a girl with legs like yours feels the need to hide at all.”

She blushes as the fucker knew she would.

“But I can’t deny that I enjoy getting to be your audience of one,” he drawls and then swiftly unwraps her with a single tug.

Something thrills in her at how matter-of-fact he is about it as if taking off her clothes is second nature to him. 

Her sundress falls to the ground and Jaime blatantly gives her a once-over because of course he does. 

His gaze shamelessly travels from her pink toenails (courtesy of a girls' night with Sansa, Missy, and Margaery) leisurely up the length of her legs. Over her wide hips. Over the navy bathing suit she's wearing that only emphasizes her thick waist and practically nonexistent bust, which he has the audacity to linger on long enough that her nipples pebble. Over her broad shoulders, her collarbone, her neck, before finally venturing to her face. When his gaze meets hers again, she's scorched by the searing heat of it. 

Brienne has the strangest feeling that he just committed every aspect of her person to memory.

His mouth twitches as he gives her braid a tug then he shrugs off his shirt and ushers her into the hot tub.

Once they’re seated facing each other, Jaime looks at her and his expression turns speculative.

“I dreamed of you. Of us, like this in a tub. We were older in my dream. I only had one hand. The other was just a bandaged stump,” he says with a laugh. “You hated me, I could tell. And I wanted you to not hate me so I confessed I’d killed a king to save a city from burning. I’d never told anyone before, but I wanted you to know the truth. They say confession is good for the soul…”

There’s something queer about his tone that commands Brienne’s full attention. 

“My confessions are a little less dramatic than that and I’ve told you most of the biggies already," he continues, "but there are still a few I would have you know before we part tomorrow. So here goes…I know you don’t believe me, but I really did want to be your friend the first day we met. You knocked that bully down and it was the best thing I’d ever seen.”

“You mocked me," she retorts.

Jaime is the picture of innocence. “Nonsense. I introduced myself to you and you just stormed off!”

“I could tell you were laughing at me and then every day after that you tracked me down and called me names!”

“Because you refused to properly introduce yourself to me like a normal person. Honestly!" he says with a long-suffering sigh as if she's being difficult. "And maybe it was satisfying winding you up a bit. It was the only time you’d even look at me. So okay, maybe I was mocking you _and_ I wanted to be your friend. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Have you met me? I only mock those people I give a fuck about.”

“Bullshit," Brienne scoffs. "You’re gonna claim you give a fuck about Hyle or Tormund?”

“Well. It’s a different kind of mocking, isn’t it. Believe it or not, but I always tried to be gentle with you.”

Knowing Jaime as she does now, she takes his point. From his perspective, he probably considered their banter back then to be a bit of light teasing. In hindsight, she can recognize that even early on, he took more care with her than he did anyone else. He wanted her to like him, to laugh along with him. His special brand of humor didn't always translate, but she can see now that he was trying.

“When I was choking in 3rd grade, I saw your calm eyes and knew you would save me. I knew it in my bones," he says in a mocking sort of way, but she can tell the lion's share of his mockery is directed inward. Concepts like trust and faith were as foreign to him as they'd been to her when they met. She can see he finds it amusing that his kid self had such faith in her and that she didn't let him down. "Just as I knew your voodoo would work on me in the elevator.” 

Brienne doesn't know whether to be flattered or offended. “Voodoo?”

“What else would you call it?" Jaime replies, arching a brow. "You said my name and looked into my eyes and magically pulled me from the jaws of a panic attack.”

She gives a small huff. “I call that making an effort to be soothing to help calm someone down.”

“Soothing, ha! It was a bit more mystical than that. You were operating on a higher level,” he insists with feeling.

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now where were we? Oh, the reason Tyrion made that jibe about Beauty and the Beast when you came to our house to tutor me was because he’d been ragging on me for weeks about how I was always going on about my Beastie. Being all ‘Brienne says this’ and ‘Brienne says that.’ He knew I had it bad for you and was being a little shit about it.”

The thought of 13 year old Jaime having a crush on her gangly 13 year old self makes her blush faintly on her younger counterpart's behalf. His smile broadens as his gaze follows the pink glow blooming across her face.

"I've considered you my girlfriend since junior year," Jaime says, chuckling wryly when she only blinks dumbly in response. "I was too chickenshit to make a move because I didn't want to scare you off. And we were as good as boyfriend and girlfriend, just minus the sex stuff, so why risk it? After I gave you your sword on Valentine's Day and you hugged me, I was _this close_ to kissing your brains out before I lost my nerve. Tell me, Brienne, if I had planted one on you then, would you have kissed me back or would you have run off screaming into the night never to be heard from again?" 

She mulls it over. "I would have run away," she guesses because reacting like a skittish scaredy-cat seems like a safe bet for her, "but then you would've shown up at my house with the sword I left behind and once I knew it wasn't some cruel joke, I would've let you kiss me again..."

He gives a low whistle. "So you're saying we could've had two more months together? Fuck me for being a little punk-ass bitch."

The smile dies on Jaime’s face as he tilts his head and Brienne can tell he was just warming up before and what’s coming next is what he really needs to get off his chest.

“I wanted to kill Mr. Trant,” he says finally. “I still do. I think about it sometimes. About how someday when my trust fund kicks in I could arrange for him to have an accident in prison. I won’t actually go through with it because I know you wouldn’t want me to, but I think about it.”

The confession should chill her, but instead she feels seen, known. Sometimes looking at Jaime is like looking into a mirror and seeing her own reflection staring back, the very best and worst of her. She's never personally considered killing Mr. Trant, but she recognizes the fury that would drive him to have such thoughts because it's the same fury that still burns inside her. For something that only ever _almost_ happened, it sure left its mark on both of them. 

A fine tremor disrupts the grim line of his mouth. “The six months we didn’t talk were the worst of my life. Whatever happens in the future, I don’t ever want to go through that again." His far-off gaze suddenly focuses on her and is so imploring, she feels his forthcoming plea like a physical touch. "Promise me if I screw up and piss you off that you won’t cut me out of your life like that again. Promise me we can be hurt or angry at each other, but we’ll still talk, no matter what.”

Brienne draws closer and meets his eyes squarely. “I promise. No matter what,” she agrees with the solemnity of swearing a vow.

“What else? What else? Oh, I know. When I heard the gunfire that horrible day, all I could think of was you. Cersei was right next to me and I just grabbed her by the arm and fucking sprinted for the library because I knew that’s where you would be. And when we were in the janitor’s closet and you were under me, two words kept thundering in my ears: _Not Brienne, not Brienne, not Brienne_.” 

His choked-off voice and dark, tortured eyes propel her forward. She barrels into him and he catches her and holds her tight. 

They stay like that for a long time.

“When my dream self finished confessing all," Jaime finally says, "he swooned and the other Brienne caught him, holding him up so he wouldn’t go under. And she was so warm. She was life itself. Like you are to me.”

“Poetic,” she says with a smile and runs her hand up and down his back. And just like that, a forgotten fragment of a dream dances to the surface of her memory. “You know, I had that nightmare about fighting the bear again last week, but this time a man jumped into the pit to save me. A one-handed man.”

Jaime pulls back at that. “What did he look like?”

She scans his face, mapping those beautiful, beloved features she'd recognize anywhere. “Disheveled appearance, beard, bandaged stump. Still half a god. I knew him. In my thoughts, I called him…”

“Kingslayer,” he finishes and his gaze goes distant. His brow furrows and then he cups her cheek. “Did he succeed? Did they make it?”

“Yes,” she replies. “What do you think it means?”

“Fuck if I know.” Then his mouth quirks slyly. “You were naked in my dream. Were you also naked fighting the bear?” 

Brienne splashes him and he laughs as he lifts her into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist. 

It occurs to her that he bared his soul and now it's her turn. Not because it's owed, but because she wants to.

She tells him in fits and starts all her secrets...

\- how a month after she came to King's Landing and Jaime was home sick, she realized she missed him when he wasn't there to hassle her at lunch. How she was scared she'd become too attached to him and decided to avoid him to try to nip it in the bud. All to no avail, thanks to Jaime's doggedness and a close call with oncoming traffic.

\- how hurt she'd been when he was the one avoiding her at the beginning of 5th grade. How she'd cried herself to sleep for days on end, thinking he'd outgrown her.

\- how she still has the tacky medal they were awarded for winning the three-legged race. How it's become something of a lucky charm for her. How, crazy as it sounds, it's probably her second prized possession, behind Oathkeeper.

\- how Jaime catching her during the trust fall, dancing with her in PE, making funny faces at her when she had to give speeches, giving her his clothes, sobering her up and staying the night with her during the thunderstorm all taught her the true meaning of friendship. 

\- how jealous she'd been of Pia and Dany and even of Margaery who she'd been positive would've been the ideal girlfriend for him.

\- how she'd lost all hope and was at rock bottom when he burst into Mr. Trant's class in 6th grade and then into the locker room in 8th. How he'd been her light in her darkest hour. And still was.

\- how the six months they were apart were the worst of her life, too. How it was a time so cold and desolate that her mind skitters away from accepting it as reality.

\- how when they were trapped in the janitor's closet during the shooting, all she could think was that there was no one else she wanted with her just then. Because he was everything to her.

"You're _everything_ to me, Jaime," she repeats, and he leans in to taste the tearful confessions on her lips before kissing her breathless.

*****

When evening approaches, they grab a couple blankets and lanterns and venture out to find a good spot to watch the sunset. Jaime leads her to a meadow of wildflowers on the hillside behind the Tyrell property and spreads out a blanket for them. When Brienne settles in, she recognizes the riot of tiny blue stars surrounding them as forget-me-nots. Even as tears flood her eyes, she shakes her head ruefully.

Jaime can be so extra sometimes.

With his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, they watch the sun sink beyond the horizon. Mother Nature puts on quite a show for them…the ephemeral beauty of the vivid pinks and purples that paint the sky is painfully fitting for their last night together. When the air grows a bit chilly, they unfold the second blanket they brought with them to cuddle up in and then lie back to stargaze.

Brienne points out all the constellations she knows and Jaime listens intently as if he’s hanging on every word. When she trails off, he turns onto his side toward her and cups her cheek. 

Bathed in moonlight, Jaime is unreal. So beautiful and so very dear to her.

“Kiss me,” she says and he does. 

Later she will remember it in flashes...

Whispering “I want you inside me,” and Jaime’s eyes going dark and hooded as he reaches for her. 

His hands shaking slightly as he removes her clothes, but then being so steady and sure on her naked skin.

The indescribable sensation of him pressing into her, stretching her so carefully with his cock.

Her name on his tongue, his eyes searching her face, the need in his voice.

His name on hers, the ache between her legs, the great swooping love in her heart.

His thumb flickering over her nipple, her hand gripping his hair and tugging to expose his throat to her kisses, his teeth scraping her ear lobe, her heels on his ass urging him on, his fingers biting into the flesh of her thigh, hers scrabbling against his back as he moves feverishly inside her until they lose all sense of where one ends and the other begins.

Afterwards they exchange soft, lingering kisses as they lie entwined on a bed of flowers with a sky full of stars wheeling overhead.

*****

The next morning they make love again as the sun rises. This time it’s slower and more tender, albeit tinged with sorrow, and when they come, there are tears in their eyes.

He drops her off at home and they say goodbye without actually saying the word 'goodbye' on her front porch. 

After yet another achingly sweet kiss, she looks at him and smiles. "I won."

"Won my heart? You certainly did," Jaime says with a flirtatious wink.

Brienne swats his shoulder. "No, you sap. I'm taller than you. I won."

"So you are, and so you did," he drawls with overt admiration.

It's not so bad, she decides. She isn't towering over him as she'd once feared. There's only an inch separating them and privately she finds she likes the way he has to lift his chin ever-so-slightly to meet her gaze. She suspects he likes it, too.

She pulls him in for one last kiss and he touches her cheek, tugs on her braid, and then gets into his Porsche and drives away.

She hasn’t even managed to tear her gaze away from staring down the road where his car disappeared when her ringtone sounds. 

“Miss me yet?” he asks and Brienne is just drawing in breath to deny it vehemently when there’s a telltale honk because the fucker circled back around.

Jaime barely gets it parked before throwing open his car door and then they’re running into each other’s arms like the ending of some lame romcom. 

They kiss and kiss and kiss, and Brienne doesn’t ever want to stop. 

Finally, Jaime presses his forehead to hers and says, “I can’t do it. I’ll just have to wait to see you and your dad off because as it turns out, it’s much, much harder leaving than being left.” 

Brienne cradles his face in her hands. “Oh, so you’ll just pass the buck to me then? I see how it is.”

“Well, technically I'll pass it to your dad. I think he can handle driving away from me and not turning back.”

He’s correct. Her dad handles it with aplomb even when Brienne starts sniffling beside him.

For the next week Brienne is trapped in a minivan with her dad. He’d planned the roadtrip months ago because he wanted the chance to spend time with her before she headed off for college. 

She tries not to begrudge him this week even if a part of her regrets not getting to spend it with Jaime. At least Jaime is true to his word and keeps her updated with a barrage of texts each day. She knows possibly too much about his minute-to-minute activities actually. It wouldn’t be the worst if she knew a tad less…especially about his oral hygiene regimen which he apparently takes very seriously.

As he drives, her dad regales her with all his best stories about college life and at a diner later that day, he hands her a brochure of all the must-see sites she should visit on Tarth. He seems so proud of her he could burst. And when he grins at her and pats her on the shoulder, Brienne is overcome with gratitude that he’s her dad. Ever since Gal died, it’s been just the two of them and she couldn’t have asked for a loving, more supportive parent.

They travel up the coast and visit their old neighborhood. The house looks the same and the park nearby hasn’t changed a bit either. Brienne remembers Galladon teaching her how to shoot hoops in the driveway, the pair of them playing Hide and Seek at the park, but somehow the memories don’t hurt anymore. They just bring a smile to her face.

They stop off at the cemetery that evening and place a wreath of flowers on her brother’s grave. When her dad goes for a walk to give her some time alone, she fills Galladon in on the last decade of her life. She shares the ups and downs, confesses her hopes and dreams for the future. She tells him about Jaime and how she wishes he could’ve met him because she thinks they’d have gotten on like a house on fire.

When she's finished saying what she needed to say, Brienne presses her hand to his gravestone. “I love you, Gal. And I miss you. Be at peace.”

She turns to go and a gentle breeze whispers over her from head to toe. She can't deny that her heart feels a little lighter as she rejoins her father.

*****

The morning Brienne boards her ferry, she receives a cryptic text from Jaime: ‘I have a surprise for you. But don’t unwrap it until you get to Tarth.’

She suspects she already knows what the big surprise is. 

Last night her father finally processed the reality of his daughter leaving for college the next day. In a fit of melancholy, he’d turned to drink and let slip that Jaime had secretly given him Widow’s Wail weeks ago so that it could be shipped with Oathkeeper to Tarth along with all her other belongings ahead of the semester.

When she’d heard, she’d had to excuse herself so she could go cry in the bathroom. Jaime prided himself on his grand romantic gestures, but this just might top them all. 

Giving her his sword to take with her as a promise that his heart would be with her in spite of the distance? Who did shit like that? 

Jaime Fucking Lannister, that’s who.

Brienne pulls her dad into a bear hug before getting on the ferry. The trip should only take a couple hours so she stakes out a spot on the deck because the view is spectacular and she likes the wind on her face. 

After only an hour, a wave of homesickness compels her to flip through the pictures posted on Instagram from Margaery's party. There's Loras doing a cannonball into the pool. There's Renly lifting his shades and laughing while a soaked Sansa scowls at the pair of them. There's Margaery tumbling off Addam's shoulders as she loses the chicken fight to Missy and Grey. There are Gilly and Sam cuddling under a large striped umbrella, doing a crossword puzzle together. 

Brienne gives a watery smile when she comes across a picture of she and Jaime. Everyone knows that Brienne hates having her picture taken, but apparently someone went rogue and snapped a covert pic of them on the sly. It was taken after the hot tub, but before the sunset. When they'd gathered with their friends and taken turns sharing their favorite memories.

Margaery had just finished her hilarious reenactment of Jaime choking at lunch, everyone panicking, and in Addam's words: "Brienne squeezing the little bitch until he coughed it up." Margaery naturally assumed the role of Brienne, set her jaw and managed a terrifyingly accurate portrayal of a mulish Brienne marching over to save the day. Loras had been enlisted to play the part of said little bitch, and he played it to the hilt, complete with wild eyes and flailing arms. 

As they all toasted to Lannister's life not having been snuffed out by something so absurd as a chicken bone, Jaime pulled Brienne into his lap. She'd tried to protest that she was too heavy, but he'd only hushed her and tugged her closer. 

The picture captures the moment Brienne reached out to tenderly caress his face, the moment Jaime gazed at her as if she was all he could see, the moment she decided she would have him, and he would have her, before the night was out. 

For once, Brienne's blind to her numerous flaws when confronted with a picture of herself. She's too distracted by the twinkle in his eye, the curve of her lip, the way his hand is splayed over her bare thigh as hers is cupping his cheek. They look so ridiculously in love that they're glowing with it. Radiant. 

Brienne wipes her damp eyes then quickly changes her phone's wallpaper to it. She studies the picture for a few minutes longer before putting her phone away and fixing her gaze on the far horizon.

When the Sapphire Isle appears in the distance, she senses a sudden presence at her shoulder.

“Surprise!”

Brienne courts whiplash she turns her head so fast.

And there’s Jaime just standing there beside her, wearing an Evenfall t-shirt and acting like he’s without a care in the world.

She blinks twice, positive he must be a figment of her imagination, but no, he doesn’t vanish into thin air. The mischievous figment keeps smirking at her and bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he’s gleeful he pulled one over on her.

Brienne finally finds her voice. “_Jaime._ What are you doing here?”

“I applied to Evenfall last year, but I knew it was a long shot since my grades weren’t the best. That and Dad wouldn’t be pulling strings for me the way he would to get me into his alma mater. I didn’t want to tell you unless I was accepted. And then I got the thin envelope that politely informed me I was waitlisted. But right after you took off with your dad this week, someone from the admissions office called and said another student dropped out and there was a place for me after all.”

She quickly does the math and realizes he applied to Evenfall before they even became a couple. Her knees almost buckle, but Brienne holds onto the railing and tries to persevere. “Your father must be…displeased.”

Jaime snorts. “To put it mildly," he says, sliding his hand over hers on the railing and giving it a squeeze. "He hit the roof. My sister, too. But I don’t want that life. I don’t want to be _him_. I think getting away will do me some good. Help me sort myself out. Besides, I hear Evenfall has a great creative writing program and if my future wife’s going to be a librarian then it’s kind of my duty to write a shitload of books so they can live where she works, don’t you think?”

Brienne is smiling so hard her face hurts and she just doesn’t care. “So let me get this straight…you were hiding for the last hour and a half down below just so you could make a grand entrance and spring your surprise on me once Tarth was in sight? And you called me a drama queen!”

He laughs and then spins her around with a whoop and dips her into a long, lingering kiss.

When the ferry docks, Jaime’s hand is in hers as they discover the island’s beauty surpasses even what was advertised. They trade awestruck glances as they marvel at the place they'll call home for the next four years. All those majestic photographs of Tarth her father had shown her over the years really didn't do it justice. 

Jaime leans in close to whisper in her ear. “Well, lookie here. We made it! I did tell you to wait until you got to Tarth to unwrap your present, didn’t I?”

Brienne shivers when he nuzzles her burning cheek. She reaches out to trace one of the crescent moons on his shirt just above his navel and keeps stroking him like that, light and teasing, until she feels him tremble, too.

“Your dorm room or mine?” she asks boldly and he gives a knowing chuckle that makes her toes curl.


End file.
